


Perfectly Fine

by Feeshies



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Character Study, Complete, Deconstruction, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4901911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeshies/pseuds/Feeshies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Legion's defeat at Hoover Dam, Otho chose to surrender to the NCR and live the rest of his life as a citizen of the Republic. The transition is a shaky one at least. Especially when his Legion past continues to turn its ugly head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**-April, 2284-**

The final drop of NCR and Legion blood was spilt on the grounds of Hoover Dam. The Legion had fallen. Their leaders killed, their territories conquered, and those who were lucky enough to survive were captured.

It had been three years since the Legion's second loss at the dam, but the battle still rang loud in Otho's ears. No amount of NCR reeducation could silence it.

But it was harder to remember the realities of war from the inside of an office building.

Otho watched the steel-haired woman across from him rifle through his paperwork. He didn't have a lot of documents on him, but it seemed like she was going through it with a fine toothed comb. He was going to be there for a while.

He sat back and watched the clock bolted on the wall above her head. The light ticking and the gentle rustling of the papers served as the only source of sound in the room. Otho rubbed his arms through his brahmin leather coat. It was cold, too cold for the Mojave. Three years of NCR reeducation and he still wasn't used to artificial cooling.

"Otho."

The woman's voice nearly startled him. He sat up straighter in his chair as if she was a military commander.

"Yes?"

"Your name."

"It's Otho."

She stared at him over the tops of her half moon glasses, her pen tapped impatiently against his file.

"Your  _real_  name." The tapping stopped. "Before the Legion."

Otho felt his stomach tighten. He stared down at his hands as they twisted in his lap. For a second, the response of " _that is my real name"_ almost escaped, but there was no point in a statement like that anyway.

"Otto."

"Listen, mister. I don't have time for games."

"That is my birth name." He kept his eyes locked on the clock. "O-T-T-O. Like my Legion name, but without the hard 'h'."

The woman stared at him for a while, then sighed and went back to the files.

"You legionaries really aren't known for your creativity."

Otho felt his eye twitch. "I thought the whole point of this was that I'm no longer a legionary."

"I don't care what the paperwork says or how many NCR classes you take, you'll always be a legionary." She leaned forward on her elbows and steepled her fingers. "Last name."

"My tribe didn't use them."

She rolled her eyes. "Then give me your tribe's name. It will make it easier to contact your family."

Otho almost let the name escape him, but he held it in. It was too embarrassing to say outloud and just the thought of doing so made him feel sick. But the clock was still ticking and he could sense both of their patience waning.

"Just make one up for me."

The woman groaned and glanced over at a list of names on the far corner of her desk.

"Your last name is Hicks." She scribbled the name down on the papers before Otho could say anything.

"Hicks." Otho tested the name outloud. It felt strange, it didn't feel like him at all, but maybe that was the point. The years of NCR reeducation were designed to distance himself from not only his Legion background, but his tribal one as well.

All captured legionaries were given the same choice after the battle: join the Republic or get sent to prison. If Otho chose the latter, he could have kept his name, his background, his identity. In a sense, he was trading one freedom for another. It was too early for Otho to decide if he had any regrets, but it was too late for him to go back.

He was already marked as a traitor.

_**-December, 2281-** _

_Otho made it through the Second Battle of Hoover Dam relatively unscathed, but the news of the Legion's defeat hit him harder than any bullet ever could. It wasn't the first time he witnessed defeat under the Legion flag. He served at the first battle as well. He watched as the Malpais Legate was covered in pitch and thrown into the Grand Canyon._

_But he assumed the second battle would be different._

_The Legate Lanius, the infamous Monster of the East, was going to be their ticket to victory. But instead he was conquered. Not with weapons, but with negotiations. The Monster of the East being told to back down, Otho felt sick just thinking about it. Any sense of honor or strength Otho believed the Legion to have was gone. So when the victorious NCR began rounding up all of the survivors, Otho didn't resist._

_Legion protocol dictated that a soldier must do anything to avoid capture, so only a small handful of legionaries were taken. Even in closed quarters of the cell, the December air was cold and bitter. Otho had to huddle with the other captures for warmth. He didn't care for being that physically close with others, but with his arms and legs bound as they were it wasn't like he could go anywhere._

" _What's going to happen to us?" A younger legionary's voice cut through the silence that had built up._

_Most of the other captures were recruits or footsoldiers in their teens or early twenties. Which Otho found strange since he always figured them to be the most expendable. As a veteran, he was the highest ranked one who was captured. There was a certain sense of shame in that._

" _They'll execute us, I think." Another legionary whispered back. "I saw they already killed the centurions. We're next!"_

_Otho sighed. "If they wanted us dead, they would have done so already."_

_The room was sent back into silence for a moment, only to have it broken again._

" _Did this happen after the first battle, sir?"_

_Otho stared down at his bound wrists and refused to answer. The recruits couldn't understand defeat. They were trained to never live long enough to see it._

_The door of the cell creaked open and Otho felt the other legionaries tense up against him. A woman in a crisp NCR uniform stepped into the room. Otho kept his eyes down. He wasn't going to look up at a woman like this. He liked to think he still had a little pride in him._

" _You might be wondering why you're all still alive right now." Her voice was too powerful to ignore, but Otho kept his gaze down. "Truth is, I would love nothing more than to see you splattered against the wall of the dam."_

_The woman lit a cigarette and it took all of Otho's willpower not to let out a cough. He was aiming for pure silence. He wasn't even going to acknowledge she existed._

" _But the Republic is more forgiving than that." As she spoke, the room began to fill with more and more cigarette smoke. Otho felt like his insides were burning whenever he took a breath. "Instead we'll give you a choice: prison or freedom."_

_The captured legionaries shifted uncomfortably. Was the NCR really going to offer them their freedom? No, there had to be a catch. Otho closed his eyes and strained to block out anything the profligate woman said._

_That became impossible when the woman reached out and grabbed him by the throat, forcing him to look up at her. Her calculating expression, the cold hand at his throat, the cigarette dangling from her blister-colored lips, Otho felt his body tense up. But he didn't know if it was from anger, fear, or something else._

" _You will look at me when I'm talking to you." The burning cigarette threatened to drop from her lips and onto his bound hands. "I'm giving you a very nice offer."_

_Otho's breathing strained against her palm, but he held her gaze long enough for her to let him go. He inhaled sharply, almost falling over as he did so. The smug look on the NCR woman's face only made him feel more enraged, but he didn't try to look away._

" _The NCR recognizes that most of you are not legionaries because of your own accord, but because of Caesar's brainwashing."_

_Otho felt his wrists pushing back against the handcuffs and his rage building, but he didn't object._

" _You will go through the same program that converted raiders and tribals go through, but much more vigorous." She stepped around the group, continuing to make cold eye contact with Otho. "You will learn how to behave like proper NCR citizens. That is, of course, if you want it. We're only giving this opportunity to those who are truly willing to turn."_

_The cell became dead silent. Otho was disgusted with himself for even considering the woman's offer. But even so, the key to the handcuffs twirled around her finger. It was too tempting. There was no honor in the Legion anymore, not after what the Legate did._

_His arms moved on their own as he held his bound hands out towards her. He couldn't bring himself to look at the other legionaries. The bindings were removed and Otho stood up, rubbing his wrists. Before he could give a sigh of relief, the woman grabbed his hands and cuffed him again._

" _Not yet, bud." She pulled him away by the back of his shirt. "We still can't have you walking around freely."_

_Otho was lead out of the cell, trailing behind her. He was the only one who volunteered. He didn't know who was more stupid. The other legionaries for not taking the chance, or him for even humoring the idea that he could have a new life._

_**-July, 2282-** _

_Otho spent most of his later years in the Legion guarding the arena. After a while, he became skilled at picking up on certain patterns in the ring. Often times he could tell who was going to win the match just by how they stood when the fight first started. Everything could be calculated and organized._

_NCR reeducation proved to behave in a similar fashion. Everything had a pattern._

_Not everyone caught on, though. There was the ex-raider who lunged at one of the NCR instructors. One of the few captured legionaries had a complete breakdown when they were learning about Republic economics. Every offence results in a strike against them. Too many strikes and they're sent back to prison._

_Otho's goal was to stay in the ring for as long as possible. Posture balanced, mind focused, senses open for whatever the NCR would throw at him next. Life in the Republic wasn't nearly as complex as they liked to believe, but that didn't stop them from praising him whenever he shook someone's hand when greeting them, operated a computer successfully, or put on a pair of pants without issue. He was treated with all the respect one would give to a toddler. It was so tempting to lash out in an attempt to regain his dignity, but doing so would just be giving his opponent an opening to strike._

_Otho sat next to the dust-stained window instead of sleeping. The facility was quiet at night. Quiet, but isolated. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been inside for so long._

_He pressed his hands against the window and tried to angle his head against the thick glass in an attempt to look at the stars. Even through the dust all he could see was concrete. He wrapped his thin blanket around his body and curled up on the floor beside his untouched cot._

" _Just keep going along with it." He muttered to himself. "You'll get out eventually."_

_After three years of rigorous reeducation without incident, Otho was given his long-awaited freedom. He couldn't even bring himself to feel smug about it. He transitioned from the Legion lifestyle the same way he transitioned from his tribal lifestyle. In fact, the NCR was easier for him to adapt to. He wasn't strong or honorable, he just was easy to influence. Perhaps there was a certain kind of wisdom to the outbursts of the raider and the legionary. At least they were holding onto their identities instead of handing them over._

**-April, 2284-**

Otho was convinced that the NCR was trying to make up for 38 years without medical attention in one hour.

People in white coats poked him, hit him with rubber mallets, stuck him with needles. One doctor went to wrap this strange device around his bicep, but stopped when he saw the thick black bands branded around his arms.

"What is it?"

The doctor shook his head and fastened the device around his arm. "It's nothing. I'm just not used to seeing tattoos like those."

As the examination went on, he continued to stare at Otho's Legion brandings. He was technically free, but he felt like a pack brahmin the way they looked at and handled him.

The doctors came to the result that he was in very good shape for his age. They seemed hesitant to tell them this, almost as if they didn't want to admit that the Legion had better health than the Republic. The only issue they came to was Otho's eyesight. He was a soldier for almost 30 years and apparently he needed glasses. Humiliating.

But that was nowhere near as humiliating as the mental evaluations. One hour of talking with another group of doctors and they had him diagnosed with insomnia, depression, and something called "post traumatic stress disorder". Why were profligates so obsessed with finding out what was wrong with them? Back in the Legion he was a functional soldier, but to the Republic he was sick.

Before he could move into his new profligate house and start his new profligate life, Otho was instructed to meet with another doctor. A psychologist, to be exact. Once again, Otho found himself sitting around in an office room.

The psychologist's office was at least more decorated than the one the woman was filing his papers in. Two soft-looking chairs were pulled up in front of a desk that was covered with various potted plants and children's toys. A patch-covered couch was pushed against the wall and over that was an old world poster advertising some Vegas show. The furniture looked comfortable, but Otho chose to stand.

The door opened and a man entered the room. He didn't look like any doctor Otho had encountered before. Instead of the long white coats, he was dressed casually in his faded blue shirt and his light brown sweater over it. He gave Otho a firm handshake and sat down behind his desk.

"Please, have a seat." He gestured to one of the chairs across from him.

Otho stopped fighting it and sat down.

"My name is Dr. Patrick." He straightened a stack of papers on his desk. "And you are?"

"Otho." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Otto. I mean Otto. Otto Hicks."

He expected the doctor to laugh, but he just smiled.

"Well, Mr. Hicks, it seems that you will be required to meet me twice a week."

Otho frowned. "Why?"

Dr. Patrick's smile faltered. "To check up on your progress. We understand that this transition must be difficult for you."

"How long do I have to do this?"

Instead of answering him, the doctor turned to his files.

"So, what's on your mind right now?"

Otho sank back into his chair.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Otho nodded and the psychologist scribbled something down on a notepad. He could only hope that it was a message to the NCR saying that he was perfectly fine and didn't need a psychologist.

"Well…" Dr. Patrick rolled his pen back and forth against his desk. "Why don't you tell me something about yourself?"

"Like what?"

"Whatever comes to mind."

Otho glanced around the windowless room. The wallpaper peeling off towards the ceiling, the stuffed animals lining the bookshelf, the faint smell of dust that seemed to occupy every NCR building.

Finally he sighed, and stared back at the doctor.

"I'm perfectly fine."

"I see." Dr. Patrick pulled his notebook closer. "And what makes you say that?"

"Because I know." Otho crossed his arms. "I don't need anyone analyzing me."

Dr. Patrick fell silent and continued to stare at Otho. Was he challenging him? Waiting for him to break? Because that wasn't going to happen.

"Well that makes my job easier." He chuckled and wrote something else down. "But the Republic says you still have to meet with me twice a week."

"How long are these meetings?"

"An hour and a half."

Otho groaned and flopped back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"You look distressed. Want to talk about it?"

He was pretty certain that the NCR was just waiting for him to snap.


	2. Chapter 2

**-May, 2284-**

The NCR was kind enough to give Otho a house. Actually, "house" was too generous a word. A room. They gave him a room.

Otho was given a one room apartment in Westside. The carpet was a faded shade of jaundice yellow. Plaster chipped off of the ceiling and walls and coated the room like dandruff. The mattress looked stiff and wavy like a piece of bloated wood. But at least it was something.

He had an overturned box for his table, a second smaller box for a shelf, and a piece of a box he taped to the wall as a coatrack. But he felt like he didn't need a lot to get by. There were times in the Legion where he would have to survive with just the clothes on his back. At least he had an actual roof over his head and not a cloth tent.

Everything was handed to him by the Republic. His citizenship, his home, and his career. Otho was given a job running a small shop on the far side of town. The store mainly stocked useless things like bobbleheads and novelty dishsets so Otho wasn't expecting a lot of customers, but he underestimated the profligates' need for useless things.

"That will be 12 bottlecaps for the sad clown painting." Otho opened the cash register and noticed that the woman in line was staring intensely at his forearms.

It was starting to get hot again so Otho had his sleeves rolled up, his Legion brandings on full display. He felt his mouth go dry. Did she recognize them? She couldn't, they were just black bands. He rolled his sleeves back down and repeated the price. The woman dropped the bottlecaps on the counter and bolted out of the store.

Otho put the caps away without counting them. Honestly he was just thankful the creepy clown painting was gone.

...

Twice a week after a long day of telling people that they couldn't get a refund for their broken snow globe, Otho had his therapy session with Dr. Patrick to look forward to.

"But is there anything you like about life in the Republic?"

Otho thought back to his tiny box-furnished room, the woman staring at him, the NCR bursting into his house at random hours "just to check on him".

"No."

…

Otho kept his eyes on the stars as he walked home from work. They were dull in the sky, fighting to shine against the city lights. They hung heavy over his head and Otho couldn't help but feel saddened by it. Even when the Legion took him he was able to see the stars. He figured he wouldn't have that privilege under the NCR.

The lights around him only got brighter and brighter as he navigated his way past the bars and brothels, dodging sour-smelling drunks and avoiding the slow drawl of blues music from inside the facilities. He stopped to fix the buttons on his coat when they got to him.

"Hey, handsome. You look like you could use some company."

Otho should have kept walking, but he made the mistake of turning around.

A woman stood near the corner of the bar, her glowing skin soaking in the neon lights around her. The only thing protecting her from the Mojave air was a tight leather bodice and a black skirt that was barely longer than a belt. Her hips swayed in an exaggerated fashion as she stepped towards him. Her hand trailed from her bleach-damaged blonde curls down to the ends of the laces keeping her bodice together.

"I…" Otho struggled to tear his eyes away from her. She was so vibrant, so bold and alive compared to the women he was used to seeing. "I'm just going home."

"Home?" She pouted and for a second Otho forgot why he was so desperate to leave. "I can't imagine your home would be more exciting than what I got in store for you."

Otho stared at her. The tight leather garment that exaggerated her figure was so unlike the stiff military uniforms worn by women in the NCR or the formless burlap dresses worn by women in the Legion. He watched hypnotized as her hips swayed closer to his and her hand swept across the front of her bodice. Her other hand gently brushed against the side of his face, but Otho gasped as if she reached out and wrapped it around his throat.

He found his hand moving for the bottlecaps in his pocket. There was no point in trying to fight off the profligate lifestyle anymore. He was one of them. Might as well give in.

…

Dr. Patrick's office was supposed to be comforting, but to Otho it felt like a cluttered mess. It bothered him more than usual that morning. His ears were ringing, he felt light-headed.

"Rough night?"

Otho stared at the doctor before realizing he forgot to cover the bite marks and bruises around his neck. He coughed and fixed his collar.

"Something like that."

"Hey, I'm not one to judge." Dr. Patrick got his notebook out. "What's on your mind?"

"Take a wild guess."

Dr. Patrick's cheeks looked like they were going to split in half from the smile he was forcing. "Well, let's try this again. Is there anything about life in the Republic that you like?"

"Prostitutes."

He raised his eyebrows. "I see. Do you want to talk about that?"

"Not particularly."

"Well then." The doctor went back to his notepad. "Is there anything else?"

"No."

…

Every morning, Otho usually had a good two hours before the customers started coming in. He spent that time flipping through the same two radio stations, counting the money in the cash register, or staring blankly out of the window. At least he had more things to do than back in front of the arena.

Otho was just about done dusting off the snow globes when a woman walked into the shop. The snow globe nearly fell from his hands.

She wore a black tank top that showed off her muscular freckle-coated arms. Her brown hair was swept back behind her ears. Otho watched as she picked up one of the old comic books off the shelf and he noticed that the skin of her knuckles was covered in scars.

He placed the snow globe back on the shelf with a light tapping sound and she looked over at him. Her eyes were as dark and intense as he remembered. He felt like he was electrocuted.

"How much for the comic books?"

Otho had to shake away the thought of how much hearing her voice hurt. It was too familiar. Too painful.

"Just take them." He whispered under his breath before returning to his normal volume. "You can have them."

She glanced at the comics then back at him. His heartbeat drowned out all of the thoughts roaring in his head.

"That's not very good business practice."

"I said you can have them." He tried to turn his attention back to the snow globes. "I want you to have them."

She was silent. Otho felt like his stomach was tangled in barbed wire. This was too familiar.

"Thank you."

Otho didn't say anything in response. Instead he let that sentence mingle in the air as the door closed behind her. His knees felt weak. He struggled to breathe properly and his body felt cold.

But for some reason, he felt almost happy. He couldn't explain it.

…

Otho watched the clock in Dr. Patrick's office, desperately waiting for the hour and a half to be over.

"You can't keep doing this, Mr. Hicks."

"I don't feel like talking."

Dr. Patrick set his pen down. "You look like you have something on your mind."

Otho sighed and closed his eyes. He finally wore him down.

"I saw someone. Someone from my past."

He reached for his notepad. "I see. Another soldier?"

Otho shook his head. "A woman. She was a prisoner of war."

"Would you like to talk about her?"

He scoffed. "What's there to talk about? Her name is Stella. She was an NCR ranger who was captured. The Legion ordered her to fight in my arena. She ended up being one of the most incredible fighters I've seen despite being a woman. There, that's it."

Dr. Patrick didn't seem to believe him. Otho hated it when he was like that.

"Do you want to see her again?"

Otho sighed. "Maybe. But what am I supposed to do? What would I even say to her?"

"I feel like you'd be the best judge in that. But I can give you some advice: don't apologize."

He frowned. "Why wouldn't I apologize?"

Dr. Patrick folded his hands. "Because when you apologize, you put the burden on the other party to forgive you. Maybe she doesn't want to do that."

"I guess."

"Now," He leaned back in his chair. "Is there anything else you want to tell me about her?"

"I told you. That's all I have to say."

**-October, 2281-**

_The sun began to set over the Legion Fort as Otho walked back to the arena, a thermos of piping hot coffee in his hand. During the cold nights guarding the arena, it would serve as his only source of warmth. It was usually a quiet job, but as he got closer he heard arguing coming from the front entrance._

" _I told you to get away from me!" Stella seized the front of a legionary's armor and shoved him away._

" _So you're the toughest fighter in the arena?" He roughly grabbed the side of her face. "I expected better. I've seen children put up a better fight than you."_

" _If you think you're so tough," She slapped his hand away from her face. "Then meet me in the ring. I'll pummel that pathetic thing you call a brain into paste."_

" _What the hell is going on?" Otho's hand tightened around the thermos as he ran up to the two._

_The legionary scowled. "You need to learn how to control your slaves more. This one clearly can't handle herself."_

_Otho slammed his fist against the rusted metal wall of the arena. They both jumped in response._

" _Stella is is the only NCR ranger to ever be captured by the Legion. She is also my strongest fighter." Otho forced his words out through clenched teeth. "Aside from the Legate, she is the fiercest opponent anyone has ever faced in the arena."_

_The legionary remained silent as Otho got dangerously close to him._

" _So anything should happen to her outside of the arena, you are disrespecting me and my job. Are we clear?"_

" _Yes, sir."_

" _Good." Otho stepped back. "Now I don't want you talking to my fighter again, unless you want her tearing your throat out."_

_As the legionary left, Stella sighed and leaned against the arena wall._

" _I had the situation under control."_

" _No, you didn't." Otho poured some of the coffee into the lid and held it out to her. "If you were to harm him outside of the ring, it wouldn't have gone over well for either of us."_

_She took the coffee from him. "What was I supposed to do? Nothing?"_

" _Look, Stella." Otho rubbed his forehead and sat down in front of the arena. "The men here will never see you as an equal. You will never have their respect."_

" _Oh, thanks." She sat down beside him. "Glad to hear you got my back."_

" _But, you can make them fear you. Perhaps there's more power in that."_

_Stella didn't say anything. They both gazed up at the stars, which were almost blindingly bright in that part of the desert._

" _This is nice."_

_Otho looked at her in shock. "What is?"_

_She shrugged, sipping lightly at her coffee. "Just looking up at the stars, they're so much nicer out here. Almost makes me forget where I am."_

_He smiled. "You know your name is Latin for…"_

" _Star. Yes, I know."_

_Another moment of silence passed between them. Otho would only take a break from looking at the stars to drink his coffee or to refill Stella's. But it was nice, peaceful, so much more pleasant than the brutality he watched on a daily basis._

" _Otho?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _You said the men here will never respect me." Stella tucked her hair behind her ear and Otho tried not to look at her bruised hands. "But do you respect me?"_

_The look in her rust-colored eyes made it apparent that this wasn't a question she was asking lightly. Otho's fingers clenched around the thermos._

" _I think you're an extraordinary fighter."_

" _That wasn't my question."_

_He looked back at her. She almost seemed to glow beneath the light from the torches. She was breathtaking, but deadly. Disciplined, but unpredictable. She was beautiful in the same way a nuclear explosion was._

" _I respect you." He laughed nervously. "But I don't know what that says about me as a man or as a legionary."_

_Stella cracked a smile. "You're so fragile, Otho."_

_Otho was so pleasantly surprised to see her smile, that he didn't even take offence._

" _Well we can't all be master brawlers like you."_

" _It's a shame, though." Stella spoke down towards her coffee. "I feel like if we weren't on opposite sides of the war, we could have been close."_

" _Yeah." Otho looked back up at the sky. "If only."_

" _I could still beat the shit out of you."_

" _I know."_

**-May, 2284-**

He saw her again. She was standing outside of a closed-down bakery, flipping through a comic book. Her gaze snapped up at him as he approached. He held his hands up.

"I understand if you hate me and you want to beat me up. Just let me remove my glasses first."

Stella tucked the comic book under her arm and stared at him.

Otho sighed and took his glasses off. "It's me."

"Yeah, I know." She leaned against the wall. "You're not Clark Kent, Otho."

He almost corrected her about the use of his legion name, but he figured there was no point. He would always be Otho to her.

"Go ahead, punch me. I won't hold it against you."

Stella frowned. "You want me to beat you up so badly, I should charge you."

"You must have thought about hurting me."

She moved in closer to him and he felt his breath catch in his throat. She reached out and held his arm, her thumb tracing against his Legion tattoos.

Before he could speak, she grabbed his arm tighter with both hands and slammed him against the concrete. The side of his body erupted in pain, the side of his cheek felt like it was rubbed raw. He remained on the ground, trying to collect his breathing. Stella was standing there right in front of him and he winced, expecting more.

"Guess we're even now." Her mud-stained boots began thudding away.

Otho almost called out to her, but his voice was lost in his throat. He watched her disappear in the crowd and he flopped back against the concrete. His hand trailed along his scratched up cheek and he smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**-June, 2284-**

Otho was sprawled out on the floor beside his bed. His back ached from sleeping on the floor night after night. He sighed and kicked the threadbare blanket off of his body. The summer was too hot for blankets anyway. The faint light of dying neon crept in through the window. The stars were still invisible. Otho stared out of the window from his spot on the floor, waiting for sunrise. The days would be brutal, but it was easier to stay awake than to close his eyes.

But he would need sleep eventually. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. The second he did, he saw them. The soldiers, the ropes around his wrists, his mother kneeling over him as he struggled to breathe. A pit built in his stomach and he felt his heart begin to race. He sat straight up and reached out for the blanket. It took a while for him to come back to reality. Sleep was not in the realm of possibility for him. So he lay back down and looked back at out the window, waiting for sunrise.

The door burst open and a flashlight was pointed directly at his face. Otho moved the blanket to cover his eyes. The nightly visits certainly didn't help him get any sleep. Even after two months he wasn't used to them.

"You're awake." The NCR soldier moved the flashlight around the room. "And on the floor."

"How observant." Otho rolled over onto his side. "Goodnight."

"Yeah." He backed out of the room. "Goodnight."

…

"Insomnia, huh?" Dr. Patrick flipped through his files.

"That's what the doctor said I had." Otho sighed and stared back up at the ceiling.

The doctor mused over his documents. "I also heard that you've been sleeping on the floor."

Otho shrugged, looking away from him. "The bed is gross."

He sighed. "Well maybe you would get a better night's sleep if you used a bed."

Otho felt his body grow cold. "I don't need a bed. The blanket is just fine."

Dr. Patrick continued to stare at him. "When did your insomnia begin? Do you remember?"

"I didn't have insomnia until the NCR said I had it."

"But have you always had trouble sleeping?"

Otho thought for a moment then closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to be having this conversation.

"Mr. Hicks, if you give this a chance we can help fix your problem."

"I don't have a problem!" Otho snapped and rubbed his forehead. "I don't have a problem."

"But are you happy?"

Otho slumped down further in his chair. "I don't have to be happy to work. I just have to work."

"Mr. Hicks…"

"Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but you're wasting your time." He got up from his chair and proceeded to leave, but Dr. Patrick stopped him.

"Sit back down. We have another hour."

Otho locked eyes with him, then sighed in defeat and sat back down. He made sure to angle the chair just right so he could watch the clock.

…

Work was a sleepless blur. Even after the shop closed, Otho remained behind. He found it easier to continue working than to go home and fail to sleep. Otho stood on the corner of the shop, sweeping the same area of floor over and over. He wasn't making much progress, but he didn't need to. He would do the same thing back in the Legion. Just look busy in front of the arena instead of going to bed. Usually it worked and the repeating motions of the sweeping helped put his mind at ease.

The door opened and Otho looked up from his sweeping. He was expecting an NCR soldier to be checking on him, but instead a man with messy blond hair stepped into the shop. His form was covered with a long brown coat and his right arm seemed to be made completely out of metal. He didn't seem to be interested in any of the merchandise. Otho sighed and continued sweeping.

"We're closed. Come back tomorrow."

The man got closer and Otho could see the scars etched out over his stern face. A squeak nearly escaped him when that metal hand reached out and clutched his shoulder.

"It's been some time,  _Otho_."

Otho felt like he was thrown into a vat of ice water.  _Dead Sea_. No, he couldn't act like he recognized him. He was a man of the NCR, not the Legion. He shook the metal hand off and went back to his sweeping.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. We won't be open again until morning."

Dead Sea grabbed the end of the broom with his steel hand and pulled it away.

"Drop the charade, Otho. You can't hide from the Legion forever." He began to close in on Otho's personal space. "We don't have much time. I'm tracking down as many surviving soldiers as I can. We'll have our Legion back. It won't be easy, it may be near impossible, but it's Caesar's will."

Otho backed away. The broom trembled in his hand.

"The Republic watches everything I do. They will have me thrown in a cell or standing in front of a firing range if I consider joining you." He turned away and went back to his sweeping. "You're wasting your time. As the former arena master, I know when a fight has been lost. Dead Sea, we lost. Get over it."

The tension in the air thickened. Otho heard the clenching of Dead Sea's steel fist.

"Get over it?" His voice deepened to a low rumble and his hand slammed against the wall, locking Otho in and blocking him from going anywhere. "You should be ashamed! You turned your back on your brothers, your army, on Lord Caesar himself! And for what? A job sweeping floors every night? A chance to suck the Republic's dick like everyone else?!"

Otho felt his face grow hot. He stared down at the spot on the floor he missed when sweeping.

"I didn't go through three years of NCR reeducation to have it all thrown away on an empty promise." He closed his eyes and sighed. "The Legion has been destroyed, but I haven't. I can start my own life, my own future."

Dead Sea laughed which sounded like a rusted vault door being opened.

" _You_? You think you're going to have a normal life in the Republic? When they constantly monitor you? When they keep track of everything you do?" He sneered. "Ironic, isn't it? They persecute you for being a mindless soldier, but what are they doing to you now? They have you brainwashed! Wake up and smell the coffee, unless your precious Republic banned you from that as well."

Otho felt like he swallowed a cup of hot broken glass. He grit his teeth and thrust the end of the broom out towards Dead Sea's chest.

"Get out of my store."

Dead Sea stared hard at the broom, before swiping it from his hands and snapping it in two. The pieces fell to the ground.

"Next time you threaten me, it will be your spine." He dusted his hands off and turned to leave. "Only seek me out when you decide to come back to reality."

The door slammed behind him. Otho sank down to his knees and began sweeping up the fragments of wood with the broken end of the broom. He rubbed his eyes from behind his glasses.

…

Otho walked home the same way he did each night, but it felt different. Dead Sea was right, he was being watched. He dug his hands into his pockets and continued walking. In front of one of the shops, he saw something that caught his eye. A stand was set up and a crowd was slowly forming around it. Otho took a closer look and nearly gasped.

Legion armor. Not only armor, but weapons, flags, memorabilia. All being sold on the side of the road in some profligate town.

He felt his mouth go dry, but out of morbid curiosity he stepped forward.

"What is this?" Otho's fingers traced over the Mark of Caesar, carelessly placed on a table beside a pile of bottlecaps.

"All the stuff left over from the Legion Fort." A man next to him explained. "No one knew what to do with it, so hey, why not sell it?"

Otho was already starting to feel sick, but then he saw a necklace displayed on the table It was definitely not of the Legion. The beads were carved out of shiny dark wood and decorated with faded red paint. When he saw it, Otho felt his face grow pale. His shaking hand reached out to touch it, but the man snatched it up before he could.

"Give me that."

The man glanced at him. "What? I got to it first."

"It's mine, give it to me."

"It's for sale, maybe I want to buy it."

His entire body began to tremble. His mind went blank as he reached out and tried to snatch the necklace from his hands.

"What the hell are you doing?" The man tried to shove Otho away.

"You don't understand, it's mine!"

The struggle stopped when Otho's fist collided with the side of his face. The man let go of the necklace and backed away. Otho leveled his breathing and tried to ignore the looks of the terrified onlookers around him. He held the necklace close to his chest and dropped a handful of bottlecaps on the table.

…

"You punched a man in the face," Dr. Patrick leaned forward on his elbows, furiously rubbing his temples. "For a necklace?"

"It was important." Otho kept his eyes down to avoid his judgmental glare.

"You need to get some sleep, Mr. Hicks."

Otho glanced up at him. "You think that would help?"

"You're getting irritable and hard to predict. I think a night of sleep would help you greatly."

There was that tiny part of Otho's brain that wanted to tell him he was being brainwashed. That encounter with Dead Sea was making his life that much more difficult.

"I can't just  _go_  to sleep."

Dr. Patrick smiled. "I want you to at least try. Do you know what's keeping you up?"

The necklace felt heavy in his pocket. "I got a lot on my mind."

"That's not what you're telling me."

Otho rubbed his eyes. "Because I'm not ready to tell you."

…

Otho's fingers tightened around the comic book as he paced back and forth outside of the bakery. She had to be there, she had to. Although part of him hoped that she wouldn't be.

Eventually, Stella did turn the corner. She looked surprised when she saw him, but he didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

"You want me to beat you up again?" She said with a slight smirk.

Otho's face began to heat up and he held the comic book out to her.

"You like these, right? They don't sell as well, so I thought I'd give it to you."

" _¡La Fantoma!_ " Stella mused over the cover.

"Yeah." Otho rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought you'd like it. You know, since it's about a woman and you're a woman and all."

She smiled and flipped through the pages. "Thank you."

Otho nodded. "Stella?"

"Yes?"

She was staring at him so intensely. It still felt so strange having a normal conversation with her. He shook his head and waved his hand.

"It's nothing. Have a nice day."

"Okay." Stella spoke hesitantly. "You too, I guess."

When he was out of her range of vision, he bolted back to his apartment, slammed the door behind him, and fell to the ground.

"I'm so stupid."

Apparently the NCR checked on him again that night. He didn't remember. He was dead asleep when it happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**-August, 2252-**

_Otto ran out of the cave as fast as his five-year-old legs could carry him. His mother, Ima, was seated in front of her loom as she always was, Otto couldn't imagine her any other way. Her braided black hair was heavy like a rope that almost touched the desert floor when she sat. She barely noticed Otto as he got closer, her hands working expertly at the loom. Otto clumsily wiped his soggy eyes and waddled over to her._

" _I see you, Otto." She scooted over and the boy immediately rushed to her side, clinging to her sleeve._

" _Godiva's being mean." Otto rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand as he tried to stammer his thoughts out. "She said-she said my painting was bad."_

_His mother's hands stopped and she sighed._

" _This is something we need to talk to her about. This isn't proper big sister behavior."_

" _No! No!" Otto clung tighter to her sleeve. "She'll make fun of me!"_

_His mother looked down at him. From where he was, she looked like the most powerful woman, no person, in the universe. Her almond-shaped brown eyes were so dark they were nearly black. Like many of the adults in his tribe, her face was adorned with deep red tattoos that outlined her features and made her gaze that much more intense. She was the spiritual leader of the tribe and Otto never once questioned why._

" _What do you think the best course of action is then?"_

_Otto took a long time to think._

" _I can hit her if she does it again!"_

_The grin on his face faded when when his mother shook her head. She stood up from her loom and took one of his little hands in hers. Otto could feel the callouses on her fingertips from overworking at the loom._

" _That's not how we do things here, Otto." She gently lead him to the front entrance of the caves._

_Otto crawled on top of one of the rust-red rocks overlooking the cliffs and gazed out over the Arizona wildlife. The normally barren desert was alive with sweet-smelling wildflowers and explosions of green foliage from the recent rainstorms. The beads and tapestries hanging over the cave entrance swayed in the late summer breeze. Below him he could see a coyote searching for its meal._

_She placed a hand on his thin shoulder. "Animals rely on violence because they need it to survive. But we are not animals. As humans, our power comes from our creativity. This same ability to create makes us closer to the gods than to animals."_

_Her hand traced over one of the paintings decorating the entrance of the cliff. The painting was of a bighorner being torn apart by coyotes. The red paint for the blood always appeared wet and fresh no matter how long it dried. The image used to scare Otto, but he was almost six-years-old so he would have to learn to not be afraid anymore._

" _We observe brutality and make it beautiful. That's what makes us human." Her voice softened, but her gaze remained as intense as ever. "There's power in observation, Otto. Don't give in to the brutality."_

_Otto sniffed and nodded. He gave his mother a hug and ran back into the cave._

_Alma, his other mother, stood over a cooking pot, mixing brightly colored corn in with the bubbling soup. The smell wafted through the cave making the air so thick Otto thought he could float on it. His baby brother, Aldric, was bundled up in a blanket beside her. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled, the blue tattoos around her eyes crinkling._

" _Looks like my little assistant is right on time. Would you like to taste some of the soup?"_

_Alma's soup was always the best, but Otto shook his head._

" _No thank you."_

" _All right. I'll see you at dinner!"_

_Otto scampered deeper into the caves, the paintings on the walls became harder to make out as the torches became more spread apart. He turned the corner and entered the room he shared with his siblings. Godiva and Odette were probably outside gathering water with their father so the room was silent._

_He ran over to Godiva's stuff and grabbed her necklace. It was a simple but well-crafted piece that his sister was way too proud of. She always made a point to show it off to him whenever she got the chance. Otto admired how the beads gleamed in the torchlight. Little wasteland creatures were carved onto their wooden surfaces. It was so intricate, so masterfully done. Otto's hand clenched around the necklace before he stuffed it under his own pillow._

_He never used brutality to get back at her, but he had other methods._

**-June, 2284-**

Otho couldn't sleep. Surprise.

He woke up with a heavy gasp, like he was previously submerged in water. His family. Why was he thinking about his family? He continued to lie on the floor, his chest heaving rapidly while the rest of his body refused to move. He was paralyzed. His wrists still felt like they were bound together. There was a light presence of tears near the corners of his eyes. Same as every night.

Otho gathered all of his strength and rolled over onto his side. Not using a mattress or pillow was not kind to his back and neck, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He tried to go back to sleep, but the sickness returned. He felt like he was burning up on the inside. The walls of the tiny apartment were closing in on him. Every sound in the rooms around him felt like a super sledge being pounded against his ears. The tension inside of him grew to the point where he forgot how to breathe. He needed to get out of there.

The streets of Westside looked dead when he stepped outside. It was strange being outside at that time.

_Just a quick walk._  Otho told himself.  _I'll be able to go to sleep after._

Out of security, he reached into his coat pocket to make sure the necklace was still there. He only allowed himself to breathe when his fingers touched the smooth wood beads.

Otho sat down on the stairwell outside of his apartment. He missed being outside at night, just sitting and thinking. Many of his nights in the Legion were like that. Being outside the arena with a cup of coffee and nothing but an endless sea of stars above him. He looked up at the dust-colored sky. The stars were another thing he missed.

All of his thoughts were forced out of him when he had a bright light shining in his face. Otho covered his eyes with his arm.

"What are you doing out this late?" The NCR soldier barked. "Go back to your house now!"

"I just needed to go outside."

"Now!"

Keeping his eyes shielded, Otho trudged back to his room. He let his coat fall carelessly off of his shoulders and he curled up in his spot on the floor.

Dead Sea was right. He was just a mindless servant.

**-August, 2252-**

_When Otto woke up, he couldn't breathe._

_Something was being pressed against his face. His tiny body squirmed and struggled for air, but the force remained. He peeled his eyes open and he would have gasped if he could get air into his lungs. His mother, Alma, was hunched over him, pressing a pillow against his face. The blue tattoos near her eyes were glistening with tears._

" _I'm sorry." She mouthed over and over. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."_

_Otto's scream vibrated against the pillow. The edges of his vision began to blacken, but he saw his baby brother lying beside him. Cold, motionless. Otto began to cry as well as his movements became sluggish._

_A loud bang bounced off the walls of the cave and Alma fell to the ground. Otto was free, but he still couldn't breathe. He wasn't used to the scent of blood, but he recognized it instantly. His mother was lying dead on the floor of the cave, her light brown hair slowly becoming a shade of dark crimson._

_A group of men in strange-looking red armor stood in the entrance to his room. The oxygen returned to his brain and Otto could move again, but there was no point. He couldn't leave and going deeper into the caves would just make it worse. He was frozen, petrified as one of the men stepped closer to him. Otto crept his hand under his blanket and wrapped his fingers around his sister's necklace before hiding it in the folds of his tunic._

_The man pressed the cold end of his rifle against Otto's cheek and he began shaking like a freshly-shaven animal. His face was wet with tears, his lungs straining to get air into them._

" _This one's left." The man spoke to the others. "Male child. He'll be useful."_

_Survival instincts kicked in, Otto couldn't help it. He tried to run away, but the armored man seized him by the forearm before he could get very far._

_Otto kicked and cried out as he was dragged through a wasteland of his destroyed tribe. Pots were smashed, tapestries shredded, paintings burned. Screams continued to roar out over the sound of crackling fires. His remaining mother was nowhere to be seen. Her usual spot in front of the loom was empty. Otto was forced into a stunned silence for a split second when he saw his sisters being dragged away in the other direction._

" _Godiva! Odette!" He screamed as loud as he could, desperately trying to get them to hear him. Even when the last two remains of his family were but a speck in the distance, he continued to scream their names to the point where his voice was hoarse._

" _This one's annoying." One of the men grabbed him by the hair. "Someone shut him up."_

_Otto felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, then his vision went black._

_Even 30 years later, Otho would wake up with the feeling of the pillow being pressed to his face and the screams of his sisters ringing in his ears._

**-June, 2284-**

Dr. Patrick warned Otho not to spend all of his money on prostitutes. Dr. Patrick also probably didn't suffer from insomnia and had a lot of excess spending money.

She had him pressed against the wall, her hands roaming under his shirt while he fiddled with the back of her leather bodice. Her breathing was heavy and raw against his throat. The light fuzz of her shaven dark hair tickled his jaw as she sucked at his collar. His jacket and shirt fell to the floor. She pulled away, running her fingers over his tattoos.

"These are...interesting." She ran her hand over his bicep. "What are they from?"

Otho sighed, sinking back against the wall. He would never be able to escape. Might as well tell her.

"They were from the Legion." He sagged his shoulders. "I used to be a legionary."

He expected her to leave, but she didn't. Her hand moved from his arm to his chest. There was a strange sort of glint in her eye, one Otho couldn't interpret at all.

"That's kind of sexy."

Otho blinked. "Excuse me?"

She ground up against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You Legion men always look so strong." Her lips brushed against his. "I always wanted to get this close to one."

"Whoa, that's kind of…"

"I'm tired of men feeling like they have to hold back."

"You know I'm no longer a legionary, right?"

"I want you to take me the way you took your women."

"Okay, that's it." Otho pushed her away and grabbed his shirt from the floor.

She sat down on the bed and held her hands out.

"Isn't this what you wanted? What's the problem here?"

"I…" Otho sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm just feeling really uncomfortable. With all of this."

"I'm sorry, I thought…"

"Forget it." He picked his coat up and slipped it back on.

"Wait!" She stood up from the bed. "This is your house."

"I won't be gone long." Otho opened the door. "But the money's on the shelf. Don't worry, I'm paying you for full time."

Otho felt like he was able to breathe normally again when he shut the door behind him. It wasn't midnight yet, so he had time before the NCR tracked him down.

His walk lead him to a bar near the end of the street. It was a quiet and dusty establishment with the only sound coming from the glasses clinking against smooth wood counters and soft blues music wafting throughout the room. Otho stood near the edge of the room, afraid to step any further. He didn't drink. It was something strictly forbidden by the Legion. Even after becoming an NCR citizen, he didn't see the appeal. But he loved the culture of lonely bars like these.

"Otho?"

He almost did a double-take. Stella sat at the bar, a glass of dark beer in front of her. He gave a little wave of acknowledgment and she waved him over. He felt a pit form in his stomach, but he nodded and made his way over to her. Why did she continue to do this? Was she playing a trick on him.

"Didn't expect to see you out this late." She smiled, her finger tracing over the side of her glass.

Otho's mouth went dry, but he nodded and took a seat in the creaking stool beside her.

"I have about thirty minutes before I have to go home."

"Home?" Stella frowned. "You got a curfew?"

He nodded. "NCR put it in place. They have to keep track of me."

"I see." She trailed off, drumming her fingers against the bartop. "You ordering anything?"

"I still don't drink."

Stella shrugged, wincing a bit, and took a sip of her beer.

Otho stared at his reflection in the glossy wood of the counter. He lost a lot of weight ever since he became a citizen of the NCR. Good food was harder to find in the city and he didn't feel pressure to keep building his muscles. His face looked pale and hollow and his eyes had dark bags under them. He wondered how pathetic he must look to everyone else. Stella still looked so vibrant and full of life. At least the Legion didn't get a chance to beat that out of her.

"Stella?"

"Hmm?"

Otho gripped the edge of the counter. "I never asked you how you're doing. After the battle and all."

Her beer clinked against the counter. She tossed her head back and stared at the ceiling with a weary sigh.

"Well I'm out of the arena fighting business, if that's what you're asking."

Otho felt his chest grow cold. "Oh. Are you still a ranger?"

She shook her head and the pang of guilt Otho had grew stronger.

"I'm not physically fit to fight anymore. The arena messed me up, no offence."

Even though he didn't have anything to drink, Otho felt like he was going to throw up. He never wanted her to fight, it was never his choice. He wanted to tell her that, but he never got the chance.

"But hey, I'm alive." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "I just can't do heavy combat anymore, but I feel like I had enough of that to fill one lifetime. I help teach reading to the kids in Westside and I love it. Things happen for a reason, cliche as it sounds."

When Stella smiled, Otho did the same almost out of instinct.

"I'm happy you're alive."

"Yeah." She turned back to her drink. "Me too."

"So you don't think it's weird that we can just talk like this?"

Stella rubbed her forehead. "I like talking to you, Otho. I always did. Even when you were being a sexist asshole, I just found it kind of funny. But I'm happy you're no longer with the Legion. It makes it easier for me to see you as a real person."

Otho's entire face felt warm, but he tensed up before he could see anything. Through the corner of his eye, he saw a faint glimpse of a man with a steel arm. He went cold.

"Otho?"

"I have to go." He nearly knocked the stool down trying to get away. Grabbing the front of his coat, he bolted out of the bar as fast as he could. He kept seeing glimpses of him through the corners of his eyes, but he would always be gone when he turned around. By the time he got to his apartment, he was all alone. Was he going crazy? That had to be it.

The door to his apartment opened with a groan and he flicked the light on. Empty. The only remaining sign of life came from the little note left on the bed.

" _Sorry, I had another client. Maybe next time, okay? xoxo"_

Otho dropped his coat and returned to his usual spot on the floor. He still felt hollow, lifeless, like he was still trying to rebuild the last 30 years that were erased from his life. It almost made him sick realizing that none of his military achievements meant anything. People would look at him in fear and anger instead of admiration.

But Stella called him a real person. Was he really that desperate that he would take that as a compliment?

Legionary Otho wouldn't. But the Otho that was steadily trying to put his identity back together? That Otho slept better thinking about it.

…

Just when Otho was falling into the routine of seeing Dr. Patrick twice a week, the universe threw something else at him.

An NCR soldier stood next to his psychologist. His face looked grim and stoic. Immediately Otho was concerned.

He stopped halfway through the doorway. "Is this a bad time?"

"Come in." Dr. Patrick waved him inside.

Otho stepped in carefully, keeping his eyes on the soldier the entire time. Not even a year ago, they would be at the ends of each other's rifles. Now Otho was sitting in an office chair across from him. Oh how the times change.

The soldier reached into the file he was carrying and placed a black and white photo on the desk.

"Do you know this woman, Mr. Hicks? Her name is Godiva."

The photo depicted a woman in her late forties or early fifties. Her thick gray-streaked black hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she was laughing as if someone cracked a joke off camera. The picture didn't mean much to him, but the name hit Otho like a bullet to the brain.

"Godiva." He picked the photo up, his eyes widening. "She's my older sister."

The soldier plucked the photo from his fingers and filed it away.

"She has been trying to contact you. We just needed you to confirm her identity."

Otho nodded stiffly. "Yep, that's her."

"Would you like to be reunited with her?"

Otho almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, I would really like that." He stared down at his hands. "She doesn't have to know about my...past with the Legion, right?"

A silence passed through the room before the trooper spoke up again.

"We can arrange that."

When the trooper left, Dr. Patrick leaned forward on his elbows and reached for his notebook. "Now, this is a good chance to hear more about your family."

"It really isn't."

"Otho."

He sighed. "I came from a tribe of pretentious artists. I had two older sisters, a younger brother, two mothers, and a father."

The psychologist raised his eyebrows and stopped writing.

"How does that work?"

Otho tilted his head to the side. "How does what work?"

Dr. Patrick waved his hand around. "You know, having two mothers and a father?"

"I had two mothers and a father. They were all married to each other." Otho frowned, this all seemed obvious. Even a profligate should understand. "Do you not do that here?"

"Not usually." Dr. Patrick scribbled down on his notebook. "So when you think of your family, what things typically come to mind?"

Otho's hands gripped the armrests. He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating. All of his memories of his family were plagued by the Legion. The invasion, the screams of his relatives, the fact that he would never see them again.

Eventually he was able to choke out a response.

"Soup."

"Soup?"

Otho nodded.

"Okay…" Dr. Patrick tapped his pen against the notebook. "What can you tell me about this soup?"

"Do you really think you can get a decent evaluation from listening to me talk about soup?"

"If it's what came to your mind, I want to hear it."

Otho took a deep breath. Once again, he was walking barefoot outside the caves, but this time he wasn't suffocating. Alma's corn and rice soup was simmering over the crackling fire. Before the Legion, fire used to be such a comforting thing to him. But there was no Legion. Just his small tribe huddled around the cooking pot, pouring soup into finely-crafted clay bowls. His tribe and the fire seemed so embracing while the night air felt cold and lifeless around him. The hearty smell of the soup mingled in with the smoke was almost as filling as an actual meal. He would watch as his mother would tell stories from behind the fire. She looked so animated in contrast to how she looked in front of the loom. The red tattoos on her face that were meant for decoration became war paint. There was laughter, conversation, Godiva daring him to stick his head in the cooking pot. Everything was so close, so warm, so alive.

The inside of Dr. Patrick's office felt dead in comparison. Otho's body was shaking and to his horror he realized his eyes and cheeks were wet.

"I'm crying." Otho reached up and touched his own cheek. "I'm crying over soup."

"Memories are powerful."

Otho covered his face with his hands. He felt so weak. This was the NCR's plan all along. They just wanted so shame him. At least Legion torture wasn't as humiliating. His shoulders shook and he began to cry harder into his hands after what had to be 30 years of holding it back.

"We can take a break if you want."

Otho wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole for the rest of his life. Legion men were supposed to be strong, so what was an ex-legionary supposed to be like? At what point would he be comfortable enough to call himself a real person?

The memory continued to play in his head, uninterrupted by thoughts of the Legion. It was like they were right there, like he could reach out and grab one of those bowls of soup. The people in his memory weren't killed by the Legion, they were still as alive as ever.

…

That night, the horrible aching pain in Otho's back was worse than ever. He craned his neck to look up at the bed above him. Taking a deep breath, he got up from his spot on the floor and tried to lie back against the soft mattress. His arms reached out for the untouched pillow. He held it close to his chest, curled up in a ball, and began to sob uncontrollably.

The smell of smoke in the back of his head now came from warm campfires instead of the destruction of his tribe, but that didn't make it any less suffocating.


	5. Chapter 5

**-June, 2252-**

" _Hey, Otto." Godiva set her basket of maize down on the ground. "Did you know that father is teaching me how to read the stars?"_

_Otto looked up at the evening sky. The stars were just starting to appear in the evening sky. He wanted to be able to read them himself, but his father always said he was too young to learn. Godiva was 12-years-old, so she was old enough. Otto didn't want to wait that long._

" _You want me to read your future?" His sister grinned, trying her long black hair back into a knot._

" _But it's late." Otto's short arms struggled to wrap around his own basket. The weight almost knocked him over._

" _Exactly." Godiva knelt down next to her basket. "And the stars are especially bright today. It's the perfect time!"_

_Otto looked over his shoulder at the warm torchlight of the caves, then set his basket down. He took his seat next to Godiva and craned his neck up._

_Godiva rested her hands on the sides of his head, keeping him in place._

" _Do you know which star your spirit is linked to?"_

_Otto squinted his eyes and pointed to a rather bright star in the sky. He always remembered it because it formed a sort of rhombus shape with the stars nearby. It was hard for him to contain his excitement. No one else ever wanted to do readings for him. They all said he was too young. His sister wasn't as experienced, but at least it was something._

" _Interesting…" She kept his head still, humming a bit. "Yes, I see something! A vision is coming to me!"_

_His eyes widened and he tried to look up at her._

" _It's..." Her hands tightened around his skull. "...a butt."_

_Otho blinked._

" _What?"_

" _It's a butt." Godiva looked down at him, grinning. "You're destined to become a butt."_

" _That's not true!" Otto pulled away from her. "I'm not a butt!"_

" _But it's your destiny, little one." Godiva waved her fingers around in the same fashion their mother did when she communicated with the spirits. "The stars have spoken!"_

_Otto stood up and ran to his basket. "I'm telling father!"_

" _Go do that. He'll say you're a butt too."_

_Otto sniffed and wiped his eyes with his hand. Godiva's expression instantly softened._

" _I'm sorry, Otto. I was just kidding around." She walked over to him and gave him a gentle hug. "I can't actually read the stars that well. I'm still learning"_

_He looked up at her. "So I'm not a butt?"_

_Godiva shrugged. "You might be, but I couldn't tell you."_

_Otto pouted and she laughed, patting his back._

" _You're such a baby, Otto."_

**-June, 2284-**

Otho's entire body felt cold as he waited in the train station. He watched as children ran across the terminal to their parents' outstretched arms. People hugged their loved ones in front of the drop off zone. The Republic was doing what they could to reunite people who were separated from the war. Otho kept his head down to avoid anyone recognizing him.

He then noticed that someone was standing rather close to him. When he looked up, he felt like he was zapped with electricity. The woman from the photograph. She was older. Her face looked weary, her eyes tired, and her posture heavy. She looked beaten by life, but she was undeniably his sister.

"Otto?" She finally spoke up after what felt like an eternity of cold eye contact. When he nodded, she broke into a wide smile and hugged him.

Otho didn't know how to react. He stood like a statue with his arms floating above her shaking shoulders. She cried against him while he stared off into the distance. It was too surreal for him to process. Eventually he hugged her back as hard as he could, and he smiled.

…

"I know it's not the best place." Otho forced the door open with his foot. "But it's what I have."

Godiva stepped into his apartment, still smiling.

"This is, uh, nice."

Otho placed his hand on the small plastic table. "When I heard you were coming, I saved up and bought an actual table. I was relying on boxes before."

She laughed and sat down. "You've always been innovative, Otto."

"I have something for you." Otho knelt down next to his bed and reached under his pillow. After a bit of searching, he pulled the necklace out and presented it to her.

Godiva stared at the necklace with wide eyes. "Is this my…"

"I stole it from you when we were kids. I never had a chance to give it back." He glanced over to the side. "I'm sorry."

Her shaking hands took the necklace and she sat down. "I can't believe I used to be proud of this." She broke into a wide smile. "You risked so much keeping this for me. Thank you."

He took the seat across from her. "It's so good to see you again."

Godiva's smile faltered and Otho noticed her try to cover the scars on her arms with her sleeves.

"I didn't think you were alive." Her voice was unusually soft. "I gave up hope ever seeing my family ever again. The Legion is brutal to their slaves. I always thought they killed you."

Otho's mouth went dry and he nodded.

"I mean…" Godiva shook her head. "It's so good to see you too."

"And Odette?" Otho felt his heart strain when he spoke. "Is she alive?"

Godiva looked away from him and Otho's stomach twisted into a knot.

"I'm sorry, Otto. The Legion made her a working slave. She couldn't take it. When she was no longer able to work, the Legion didn't see a use in her." Godiva wiped her eyes, her shoulders were shaking rapidly.

Otho was unable to speak. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. Godiva shook her head, forcing a smile.

"Do you mind if we talk about something else? I'm just happy you're okay."

Otho nodded. "I don't mind."

Godiva patted his hand. "The Cii'ton Siblings are back together again. Watch out, Mojave."

He shook his head. "I didn't take our tribe's name. My last name is Hicks."

Godiva frowned. "What? Why?"

Otho shrugged. "The name's kind of embarrassing."

"'Star Kissed'?" Godiva laughed. "That's not embarrassing, it's part of our culture. Besides, we're probably the last two people who speak our tribal tongue. No one else is going to know."

"But I'll know."

Godiva snorted. "You're still such a baby, Otto. And here I was afraid you were going to be totally different."

Otho rolled his eyes and took his coat off. As he was hanging the coat against the wall, he could feel Godiva staring at him.

"You okay?"

Her eyes were wide, her face was pale. Otho followed her gaze and realized that she was staring at his tattoos.

He cleared his throat and touched his forearm. "They're brandings. From when I was a slave."

"The slaves didn't have tattoos like those." Godiva backed away from the table. "The soldiers did."

Otho's hand tightened around his coat. He could feel his heart race.

"Godiva, please."

"You were a soldier." Godiva's fingers were clawing through her hair and she was unable to take her eyes off the tattoos. "You have five bands so you weren't just a footsoldier. This is...oh god oh god oh god."

"I didn't have a choice, Godiva." Otho tried to calm her down as she paced around the room, muttering in their tribal language under her breath. "The Legion took me too. I couldn't resist!"

She stopped moving and rubbed her forehead. "I know. I know, Otho. It's just…"

"They would have killed me, Godiva!" He was getting too heated and his voice cracked as he tried to keep himself from crying. "I was just as much a slave as you were."

"No you were not!" Godiva screamed back. Otho felt like he was blasted back against the wall. "You were not a slave! You never had to worry about your own safety when you were just going to get water! You never experienced the powerlessness that I felt! You were never anyone's property!"

"I was property of Caesar."

"Oh, boo hoo. I'm sure you felt so taken advantage of when he promoted you to your rank. Odette was killed by a man like you. Don't you dare act like we're on the same level."

Otho felt a lump form in his throat. Any response he had evaporated in his mind as he continued to stare at her in a stunned silence.

Godiva sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's still all very painful for me."

Otho just nodded, slowly sitting down on the bed. The tattoos on his arms felt like they were burning, as if he was getting them for the first time again.

She turned her back to him. "I should go. It's too soon."

Otho stared down at his hands. The door opened and shut behind her. He fell to his side on the bed.

…

Otho was in a daze when he walked home from work. Godiva's words were still ringing in his ears. It was becoming harder and harder for him to breathe. He rubbed at his tattoos through his sleeve. He had to get rid of them. There had to be a way.

"Whoa, you look like you were hit by a train."

Stella's voice nearly knocked him off his feet. Why now, when he was emotionally vulnerable? He felt like a wreck. She shouldn't be seeing him like this.

"I'm fine." He tugged at his collar. It felt like it was suffocating him. "Just fine."

"Uh huh." She nodded, eyeing him skeptically. "Well if you're fine, I'm just going to be going now…"

"Do you want to go for a walk some time?" Otho blurted out. Immediately he felt his entire body tense up and his stomach clenching in a knot.

Stella raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

"I mean…" Otho rubbed his forehead. Everything was telling him to run away from the situation as fast as possible. "Maybe? I don't know. This is stupid, forget it."

"You need to learn to relax, okay?" She smirked. "I don't want you having a heart attack on our date."

Otho looked at her like she punched him in the face. Honestly that would have been easier to process.

"Wait, really?"

She shrugged. "I'm trying to work on putting all of that Legion business behind me. Maybe this is a good way to do that."

Otho cracked a small smile. "So I guess I'll see you then?"

"Yeah?" She smiled back, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'll see you."

Even long after she left, Otho couldn't bring himself to move. The emotional whiplash he felt was paralyzing. There was hope for him. He wasn't completely bound by his past. As Stella said, he needed to put his Legion background behind him. He rolled his sleeve up and stared down at his tattoos.

There was just one more step to break the bindings.

…

Otho's options were limited since the NCR wouldn't let him leave Westside, but he eventually found a small tattoo parlor near the edge of town. With the number of former Fiends and Khans becoming NCR citizens, there was a need for tattoo removal services.

"Let's see what you got." The man sitting across from him had surprisingly few visible tattoos. Which was strange since Otho always imagined tattoo artists to have more ink than skin.

He rolled his sleeve up and the artist raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, those look heavy." He grabbed his arm and Otho flinched. "It's going to take a long time to get these out with as little scarring as possible. I won't promise it will be cheap either."

Otho dropped his bag of caps on the table. This payment only left him with barely enough caps for rent and food.

"This is all I have." He maintained cold eye contact with the other man. "Don't worry about scars or pain. I just need these off of me."

The artist's eyes darted back and forth between the caps and the tattoos. Eventually he sighed and slid the payment towards him.

"All right. We'll have to strap your arm down for this one. Get comfy."


	6. Chapter 6

**\--June, 2284--**

 

“So, how are you feeling?”  Dr. Patrick peered at Otho over the top of his notepad.  A typical vague question of his, but this time it sounded like he was expecting a certain answer.

 

“Same as always.”  Otho could hardly sit still in his chair.  It took a few minutes of him moving around to feel comfortable.  “Why?”

 

“You just seem more…”  The psychologist trailed off.  “...active.”

 

“Okay, admittedly I’m a bit nervous.”  Otho rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at Dr. Patrick who was silently urging him to continue.  He sighed.  “I have a date tonight.”

 

“That’s wonderful!”  He smiled, but Otho couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being condescended to.  It was the same type of false enthusiasm that he faced in reeducation.  “But does your date know about your...history?”

 

Otho sighed.  “Oh yeah, she does.  It’s Stella, the woman I told you about?”

 

“Oh.”  Dr. Patrick stared down at his notepad before scribbling something down.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

“No, no.”  He set his pen down.  “I feel like this is good for you.  Is this your first date?”

 

“Yes.”  It wasn’t something Otho felt embarrassed about before, but for some reason he felt a bit of shame when he spoke.  “I didn’t feel the need to when I was in the Legion.”

 

“I see.”  Dr. Patrick leaned back in his chair.  “And do you feel a need to do this now?”

 

“Maybe?”  Otho shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I just know that I really like her and I don’t want to mess this up.”

 

He raised his eyebrows.  “Are you afraid that you’re going to mess this up?”

 

“I said I never did this before.”

 

Dr. Patrick drummed his fingers against the desk.  “You shouldn’t have anything to worry about.  Just be yourself.”

 

“Fantastic.”  Otho crossed his arms.  “Three years of reeducation and now you want me to ‘be myself’?”

 

He laughed.  “Well that’s usually the stock advice given.  Just be polite, compliment her when appropriate, pay for her, you’ll figure it out.”

 

“Sure.”  Otho sighed.  “I’ll be sure to keep that all memorized.”

 

“You’ll be fine.  Now,”  Dr. Patrick flipped back through his notes.  “I noticed that you’ve been hiring the service of prostitutes a lot.  I wanted to talk about that.”

 

“You can’t be serious.  This is the worst possible day you could have chosen to discuss this.”

 

**\--September, 2281--**

 

_Otho was at his usual post in front of the arena when another soldier came running up to him._

_“Sir!”  The legionary gave a hasty salute.  “Important business regarding the Legion’s recent invasion of Camp Charlie.”_

_“Is that so?”  It was unusual for a legionary to come to him about military operations as his job mostly involved management of the arena and combat training.  “About what?”_

_“The Legion took a capture, sir.  One of the rangers.  Lord Caesar wants to exhibit the ranger’s skills in the arena.”_

_Otho’s eyes widened.  The Legion had never captured an NCR ranger before.  It just didn’t happen.  Their skills were unmatched.  Otho had seen many types of fighters in his arena.  Legionaries, raiders, NCR troopers, even the renowned Legate Lanius himself.  But the feared rangers of the NCR were almost something of a white whale to him.  But now that the Legion had one in their clutches, he was sure to put on one of the most entertaining and brutal matches in Legion history._

_“Bring me to him.”  Otho set his coffee down.  He was already making a list of possible opponents in his head.  All high-ranking officers who would stand a chance against the ranger._

_The legionary became oddly silent, but lead him to an area just outside the inner walls of the Fort.  A small squad of men stood in front of the training grounds.  Behind them, Otho could just make out the shape of someone kneeling in the dirt._

_Otho pushed his way through the crowd to get a better look at the ranger.  His face fell._

_The person kneeling in front of him was a woman wearing tattered rags.  Her mousy brown hair was disheveled, her wrists were bound together with thick ropes.  If it wasn’t for her muscular build, Otho would have mistaken her for any of the other slaves.  Plus she was staring at him intensely, as if he was the captive instead._

_“Is this some kind of joke?”  Otho turned to the other legionaries and they looked down at their feet._

_“Her name is Stella…”_

_“I don’t care what her name is.  Women do not fight in the arena.  Those are Caesar’s orders.”  Was this a test?  It had to be a test._

_“But it’s Caesar’s orders that this one is allowed to fight.”  The legionary crossed his arms.  “So now what?”_

_Otho sighed and rubbed his forehead.  It only made sense that the first ranger the Legion captured was a woman._

_“Fine.  Let’s get this over with.”_

 

**\--June, 2284--**

 

Otho held his breath as he peeled the gauze off of his arms.  They still burned.  It was going to feel that way for a while.  His black tattoos were replaced with raw damaged tissue.  Same place and size and they were still very noticeable, but now it felt like his transition to the Republic was official.  A complete rejection of his life in the Legion.  His flesh was burned off not through the will of the NCR, but through his own.

 

He stared at himself in the flimsy mirror tacked to his wall as he dressed the burns with fresh gauze.  His heart was racing.  It felt so silly getting all worked up over a date.  But at the same time, it felt so new having something in life to look forward to.  It wasn’t dread, anxiety, or even fear, but genuine excitement.

 

A knock sounded at the door.  Otho sighed and looked over his shoulder.  It had to be the NCR “checking up on him”.  The random visits were a hassle, but not as much of a hassle as it would have been if he kept them waiting.

 

Pulling his shirt back on, Otho stepped over to the door and opened it.  Instead of the usual NCR soldier, a young man stood before him in the doorframe.

 

“Uh…”  Otho stared at him, trying to recall if he’d seen him before.  “Can I help you?”

 

“I’m here on behalf of the decanus Dead Sea.”  The man spoke as if he was reading from an invisible script.  “You can’t turn your back to the Legion.”

 

“Oh great, he got to you too.”  Otho rubbed his face.  Recruits and other young soldiers were always so easy to manipulate.  “Is this going to take long?  I have plans tonight.”

 

“It is Caesar’s will that you continue his vision.”

 

“That’s really something, kid.”  He leaned against the doorframe.  “Too bad Caesar’s dead.”

 

The man clenched his fists.  “Your traitorous behavior will only go so far.  Just wait, soon you’ll…”

 

Otho slammed the door before returning to his bandages.

 

**\--September, 2281--**

 

_This battle was going to be a waste of his time.  Otho could feel it._

_He scrapped the list of high-ranking commanders he was developing and instead had the ranger face a new recruit in the arena.  He was certain that if she had to face anyone of a higher rank, the battle would barely last a minute._

_Just before leading Stella through the rusted doors of the arena, he stopped and handed her a machete.  He was overtaken with a white hot rage when she dropped the weapon on the ground between them._

_“I don’t need it.”_

_Otho’s hand clenched into a fist, but he managed to keep his composure.  “Then pick it up.”_

_Stella just stared at him and walked into the ring.  Otho’s rage increased, but he waited until she wasn’t looking before he allowed himself to pick the machete off the ground._

_The door slid shut and locked with a loud clang.  With the battle coming closer, most legionaries focused most of their attention on the war effort.  But a decent-sized crowd gathered around the arena.  Some were excited to see a ranger in combat up close, while others were amused at the idea of a woman fighting._

_As the fight drew nearer, Otho began to doubt Stella’s skills less.  She was still a soldier after all.  But did she still have honor?  The arena had rules.  Each legionary was brought up with a strict understanding of discipline.  Even when being treated as a prisoner, Stella showed a clear lack of understanding of authority.  Otho couldn’t predict her and that troubled him.  If she didn’t have honor, this woman was capable of anything._

_The match began.  Otho barely had time to process what happened.  The legionary charged but Stella easily evaded his attack.  When he was standing there in shock, she punched him directly in the face.  The sound of cracking bone filled the arena.  The legionary was on the floor, his mouth full of blood and teeth and his eyes bulging with terror.  Otho could only watch in shock as Stella finished the act, making cold eye contact with him the entire time.  Otho had to look away for a second._

_The crowd was silent other than the occasional confused murmur.  After a few minutes of stunned silence, Otho slid the arena door open and stepped inside.  The tension around the ring grew thicker as he knelt down in next to the legionary’s body.  Given the state he was in, there was almost no point in checking his vitals but Otho did it as a precaution anyway.  Completely dead._

_Otho looked back up at Stella.  She didn’t break any of the arena’s rules.  She didn’t use any banned weapons, she wasn’t wearing heavy armor, she followed through with finishing off her opponent.  Her hands were bloodied and bruised, but they were the deadliest weapons she needed._

_The spectators looked on in shock while Otho hoisted the legionary’s body over his shoulder.  He cleared his throat._

_“The ranger is victorious.”  He tried to say it in the same way he announced the end of all of his matches, but he was still having difficulty believing it himself._

_Instead of loud cheers, the audience responded with dumbfounded silence and polite clapping._

_“Of course if anyone feels like they have the courage to face this woman,” Otho pulled the corpse further up on his shoulder.  “Step forth.”_

_..._

_Recruits, veterans, scouts, legionaries of all different ranks volunteered to face the ranger.  Each one met the same bloody end.  Otho watched in horror as Stella pulled an elite centurion’s jugular out like she was plucking a flower.  He didn’t remember how she got the officer on his back in the first place.  It all happened too fast._

_Otho had to clean the arena, so Stella made sure to make her fights as bloody as possible just to spite him.  Or at least that’s what Otho suspected._

_“So you have to tell me.”  Otho grunted as he tried to scrape the blood off of the arena wall.  After a few weeks of having her around, he was used to it.  “How does a woman like you become this...exceptional?”_

_Stella leaned against the doorway and sighed.  “I trained.”_

_“I mean, did you have a lot of brothers growing up?”_

_“I trained.”_

_“Did your parents want a son?”_

_“I trained.”_

_“Were all of the men in your family taken, leaving the women to learn to fend for themselves?”_

_Stella looked like she was in a limbo between wanting to laugh and wanting to punch him._

_“Is there any chance I could face you in the arena?  Because I’d really like that.”_

_Otho wiped the blood off of his hands.  “Not a chance.  I don’t fight in the arena.  And I would never hit a woman.”_

_“Oh, how very noble of you.”  Stella rolled her eyes.  “Be still, my beating heart.”_

_He smiled and went back to cleaning as she watched._

_“Is there a way for you to make your fights easier to clean up after?”_

_“Yeah, no.”_

**\--June, 2284--**

 

It took Otho a few minutes for him to gather the strength to knock on Stella’s door.  He knew it was a custom for a man to bring a woman flowers, but NCR restrictions prevented him from leaving the city.  So he could only pluck a few broc flowers growing near the gate.  The stems were bruised and limp in his hand, either from how frail they were or from how tightly he was squeezing them.

 

Stella opened the door and Otho’s nerves only increased when he saw her.  Her hair was combed back out of her eyes and while she was dressed casually, it was strange not seeing her like she was dressed for combat.

 

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”  She fixed the collar of her shirt.  “I just realized I only own two pairs of pants.”

 

Otho handed her the flowers as if he was handing her a baton in a relay race.

 

“They’re for you.”  He looked away from her, pushing his glasses up.  “You can make healing powder out of them, or whatever women do with flowers.”

 

The flowers fell like overcooked noodles in her hand, but she smiled and placed them inside.

 

“Thank you.”  She stepped back outside and shut the door behind her.  “You didn’t have to.”

 

“Oh.”  Did he already mess up?  That’s what she meant, right?

 

The night air was calm and clear as they walked through the city.  Otho wanted to mention how brighter the stars were back at the Fort, but he quickly dismissed the idea.  There was never a Legion.  They were just two people enjoying each other’s company.  Each time Stella smiled, cracked a joke, or playfully punched him on the arm without the intention of killing him, he could feel his Legion background fading.  This very thing made him both incredibly nervous, but incredibly relaxed at the same time.

 

He unfastened his coat and draped it around her shoulders.  Her freckles faded into the deep blush forming around her face.

 

“This is very sweet, Otho.”  She fiddled a bit with the collar.  “But it’s June.”

 

“Oh.”  He moved to take the coat back, but she stopped him.

 

“I mean it’s okay.”  She slipped her arms through the sleeves.  “I think I look good in it anyway.”

 

“You do.”  He dug his hands into his pockets.  “Well I mean you always look good.”

 

Stella looked down at her feet.  Her smile was glowing.

 

“I think you look good too.”  She looked back at him.  “Legion armor is so unflattering.”

 

They sat down on a bench near the side of the road.  Stella remained looking up at the night sky, but Otho couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  Her smile faded and Otho started to worry.

 

“The stars are nice.”  Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

 

“Yeah.”  He scooted closer to her, but no more than a centimeter.

 

She rubbed at her eyes.  “You know, back at the Fort it surprised me that you liked star gazing.  Never thought of that to be a Legion pastime.”

 

“The stars were very important to my tribe.”  He craned his neck back.  “Everyone’s spirit is linked with a star.  The movement and the behavior of the stars could predict a person’s fate.  There were certain people in my tribe who could read them.”

 

“They’re giant balls of plasma light years away.”

 

“I know.  But it’s part of my culture.”

 

A silence lingered between them.  Otho couldn’t shake the feeling that he seriously messed up.

 

“I do like hearing stories about your tribe.”  Stella spoke and Otho felt like he could breathe again.  “I’m happy you’re holding onto them.”

 

“I don’t have a lot else to hold onto.”

 

She tugged at a few strands of her hair.  “I just have a hard time processing stories like that.  As a kid, I was raised on science books and stuff.  My parents never saw a use in folktales and legends.  The kids I teach are getting pretty bored, to say the least.”

 

“I could give you some more stories from my tribe.”  He looked back over at her.  “I don’t remember a lot of them, but I don’t want them to go extinct.”

 

Stella smiled.  “Yeah, I’d like to hear them.”

 

He smiled and looked up at the half moon in the sky.  “We had a legend about the phases of the moon too.  The light from the moon helps guide the souls of the deceased to the afterlife.  A man wove a blanket and gave it to the moon so she wouldn’t get cold.  When she wrapped herself up in the blanket, her light couldn’t shine through.  The man was able to spend one more day with the soul of his recently deceased wife.”  He tugged at his collar.  “I probably butchered that.  My mother was a much better storyteller than I am.”

 

“That’s actually…”

 

“...caused by shadow of the earth.  Yes, the NCR taught us science.”

 

She stared at him.  “I was going to say that’s actually a really sweet story.”

 

Otho went cold.  He turned away and held his face in his hands.

 

“I’m sorry.  I’ve been acting like such an idiot.”

 

“Otho, it’s fine.”  Stella laughed and ran her fingers through her hair.  “I’m a bit nervous too.  I haven’t been on a lot of dates.”

 

Otho felt a huge sense of relief knowing she was in the same boat.

 

“I haven’t either.”

 

“You mean women weren’t constantly fawning over you in the Legion?”  She turned to face him and smiled.  “Color me shocked.”

 

He scooted closer to her, his fingers barely brushing against hers.

 

“Are you always going to be like this?”

 

“Perhaps.”  Her brown eyes were nearly pitch black in the limited light and they only drew him in more.  He couldn’t help but stare as she shrugged his coat off of her shoulders. “Is that going to be a problem?”

 

“Not at all.”  He touched the side of her face.  In the time that he knew her, he never imagined actually touching her.  It was surreal, being this close to her.

 

She placed her hand on Otho’s shoulder.  The same hand that tore men’s throats out felt so delicate against him.  His heart was racing.  He had military operations that were less stressful.  But he leaned in and touched his forehead to hers.  When she didn’t pull back or punch him, he tilted his head and kissed her.

 

Otho never felt more awake than he did in that moment.  Her arms were draped around his shoulders, pulling him closer.  It took everything not to smile against her chapped lips.  He could feel the goosebumps on her arms rising against the skin of his neck.  Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbone.  Their noses collided a few times.  He could feel her heartbeat from how close they were.  All of his doubts evaporated.  After burning the tattoos off, this was the final nail in the coffin he needed for his Legion past.  Finally, at long last, he was becoming a real person.

 

They rested their foreheads together when he pulled back.  Otho kept his eyes closed, trying to savor the moment for as long as possible.  His lips were still tingling when he opened his eyes.  He smiled at her, but Stella didn’t.  She was looking away from him and her expression seemed almost grim.

 

Otho sat back, taking one of her hands in his.  “Is everything okay?”

 

Stella pulled her hand away and turned from him.

 

“I don’t know.  This is getting too messy.”

 

The bliss Otho was feeling came to a screeching halt.  He felt his stomach drop, his breathing thrown off-balance.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean…”  Stella rubbed her arms, but she didn’t look cold.  “What do you hope to happen between us, Otho?  Seriously.”

 

The question threw him off guard.  He looked down at his hands.

 

“I don’t know for certain.  But I really like you, Stella.”  He sounded desperate, but he didn’t care.  “Just sitting next to you like this, it makes me feel happy.”

 

“But do you really think a relationship could work out between us?”  Her tone forced him to look up at her.  “Are we going to pretend that chapter of our lives three years ago never happened?”

 

“No, but it’s over.”  Otho felt like he was going to pass out.  “The war is over.  I’m no longer a legionary.  We can be together now.”

 

“Otho, we were not star-crossed lovers caught in the middle of a bigger conflict.”  She leaned forward, rubbing her temples.  “We were major players in that conflict.  If I was never captured, we’d be trying to snipe each other off of buildings.  When you first met me, I was in shackles with a bomb collar around my neck.”

 

“I…”  Otho’s voice cracked.  He sounded so pathetic.  He felt so pathetic.  “I’m no longer a legionary.”

 

“I know, Otho.”  Stella squeezed her eyes shut.  “I know you’re not a bad guy.  But you worked for bad people and you’re still the man who technically had ownership over me.”

 

Otho thought he was going to break down right there.  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

 

A tear trickled down her face and she wiped it away.

 

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, I promise.  It’s just…”  The tears fell more rapidly.  “I visited Charlie yesterday.”

 

“Who’s Charlie?”

 

Stella stared at him, dumbfounded.  “Camp Charlie.  The station I was taken from.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I was the only survivor.”  She began to cry harder.  Otho was so close to joining her.  “Everyone else I served with is dead.  I thought I could move on.  I thought I could start again with you.  But I can’t.  It just isn’t right.”

 

“I’ll make it right, I promise.”  He reached for her hands but she pulled them back.

 

“No, you can’t.”  She wiped her nose with the collar of her shirt.  “We can’t act like the Legion never happened.”

 

After years of general apathy, Otho felt like all of his emotions were firing at top level all at once.  He had to keep his eyes down at his feet.  The sight of her crying was too much for him.  When he felt her placing his coat back in his lap, he felt like he was going to fall over.

 

“I’m sorry.”  Her voice was the softest he ever heard her speak in.  “But we need to end this before it becomes any more complicated.  Goodnight.”

 

Otho’s hands twisted in the fabric of the coat as he heard her walk away.  He continued to stare blankly into the distance.  The emotions had yet to register completely.  When he finally looked down at the coat in his lap, it all clicked and he began to sob into the cloth.  He was so close, so close to being an actual person.  But to the people he cared about, he would never be that.  The burned skin on his arms felt like it was for nothing.

 

He lay down against the bench, clutching the coat to his chest like it was a security blanket.  His lips were still tingling from the kiss.  The more he thought about it, the more disgusted with himself he became.

 

Flinging the coat back over his shoulders, he got up to his feet and started to run.

 

He had a scenario in his head where he ran after her.  He’d get down on his knees in front of her.  He’d allow himself to be vulnerable around her that one time.  He’d hold her the way he wished he could when she was crying.  And somehow it would all be fixed.

 

Instead he ran back towards the main area of the city.  The tears streaming down his face stung as he ran.  He didn’t stop until he was outside of an NCR facility.  His fist pounded against the door and he shouted.

 

“Dr. Patrick!”  His knees nearly buckled under him.  “Dr. Patrick, please let me in!”

 

A trooper wielding a flashlight ran out.

 

“Whoa, whoa!  What are you doing?”

 

Otho collapsed against the side of the building.  “I just need to speak to Dr. Patrick.”

 

“It’s past your curfew.”  He shined the flashlight directly into his face.  “Your meeting with Dr. Patrick is tomorrow afternoon.”

 

He struggled to breathe, but he nodded and forced himself to his feet.  His feet dragged behind him as he trudged back towards his home.  But instead of stopping at his apartment, he made a quick turn into the outer regions of the city.

 

He stood in front of a monstrous abandoned warehouse.  His hands were clenched into fists, his eyes were red and dry.  After a shaky breath, he reached out and knocked on the large metal door.

 

Immediately he was greeted with a shotgun being pointed at his head.

 

Otho held his hands up.  It didn’t even startle him.

 

“Dead Sea, it’s me.”

 

The former decanus lowered his weapon.

 

“So, you come crawling back to the Legion?”

  
“You were right.  There’s no point in trying to serve the Republic.”  He bit his lip.  “I’m ready to go back to where I belong.”


	7. Chapter 7

**-June, 2284-**

Otho's eyes strained to see in the underlit warehouse. Dead Sea didn't have much as far as a secret base went. The rusted walls were only held up with a few wooden planks nailed to them. The building creaked around him, which he was not comfortable about. Otho thought he was the only other one in there, but then he noticed someone else standing near the front entrance. The young man who was at Otho's door earlier.

"Great." Otho sighed and pushed his glasses up. "At least we got one of the recruits."

Dead Sea shook his head. "Not a recruit. He's just some Legion sympathizer who wanted to join the cause."

Otho glanced back at the man. He was pale, his clothing and hair was obviously untouched by the rest of the wasteland. At first Otho suspected he would have been an ideal recruit, but it looked like he wouldn't have lasted a day in the desert.

The former decanus paced around the room for a moment before stopping in front of Otho. He crossed his steel arm over his real one and stared at him critically.

"I hope you're not coming back just because you had one bad date."

Otho's hands clenched into fists inside of his pockets and he looked away from Dead Sea.

"I was a glorified prisoner. The NCR promised me a life after the war, but what they gave me wasn't a life. It was just three years of being taught to be ashamed of my accomplishments." He pushed his glasses up. "I want to go back to feeling proud of myself. My time in the Legion was the only thing of value I ever did."

Dead Sea locked eyes with him for a moment before returning to the center of the room.

"I had some time to scout the area of the town. At night, I found there are less troops patrolling near the north." He linked his arms behind his back. "Our only goal is to get out of this town. We need to leave at once. There isn't much time."

The not-recruit turned to leave the warehouse and Otho went to follow him, but Dead Sea stopped him before he could get one foot out the door.

"And if this is a setup…" Dead Sea's steel arm reached out and seized him by the collar. "Your precious Republic is going to have a difficult time piecing you back together."

Otho managed to maintain eye contact with him. "I will do whatever it takes to resurrect Caesar's vision."

Dead Sea held his gaze for a solid minute, then let go of his shirt.

"One weak link can destroy an entire army. Do not let your cowardice get in the way of your ability to fight." He turned around, stepping away from Otho. "We cannot lose."

**-February, 2277-**

" _We cannot lose."_

_Otho stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a formation of hundreds of Legion soldiers. Their centurion paced in front of them, the last days of battle were weighing heavily on his posture. When the Legion first prepared to face the NCR at the dam, the phrase "we cannot lose" was an inspiring one. As the threat of defeat drew nearer and nearer, the phrase transformed from inspiring to desperate._

" _Seizing Hoover Dam will be the greatest thing any of you ever accomplish!" The centurion's barking continued. "Everything you've ever done has been leading up to this moment!"_

_Otho could feel the other men shifting around him. He just stood in a stunned silence._

" _You are here to fight." The centurion stopped pacing for a moment. "If you do not fight, you are a waste to me, to the Legion, and the Mighty Caesar Himself."_

…

_Otho didn't fight. He never got the chance. It felt like the Legion was forced to retreat faster than he could get his rifle out._

_They never gave him all the details. He knew that they lost too many soldiers to successfully take the dam. Later, he knew that their failure was caused by the Malpais Legate._

_Otho was promoted just before he saw the Legate's execution as a sort of sick irony. His forearm stung from the new tattoo, his veteran armor felt odd and bulky, but all feeling evaporated from him when he saw the Malpais Legate in chains being coated in pitch. The Legate was tough. He had to be. But the screams Otho heard felt more real than anything he witnessed on the battlefield._

_A crowd was starting to gather around the brim of the Grand Canyon. Otho swore he heard a legionary gasp when Caesar lit a torch. The Legate went up in flames easily and he was tossed over the edge. The screaming died down a long time ago. Otho couldn't see Caesar's face, but that moment changed the way he looked at him. Caesar was no longer the man who saved him from his previous barbaric ways, he was a ruthless commander who only expected perfection from his armies. Otho grew more respect for him in that sense._

_Otho continued to sit near the edge of the canyon long into the night. His tribe had stories about people fighting back against their own deaths. He remembered his mother would tell him stories about the Fire Walker, a man who set himself on fire and walked out into the desert in the hopes of finding paradise. Legend was that he could only remain alive if he kept focused on his goal. But if he let his mind wander for even a second, the fire would consume him. Otho first heard the story the night before the Legion took him. He never heard the ending._

_It was hard to believe that the Legate was dead. He was a tough man, even this method of execution couldn't hold him down. Otho leaned back and stared up at the stars. The spirits worked in strange ways. Perhaps the Malpais Legate would rise from his grave and begin his journey anew. Otho didn't know if the story of the Burned Man comforted him, or terrified him._

**-June, 2284-**

Dead Sea went to go scout the area up ahead, so Otho was left wandering the streets with legionary-in-training.

"So you're a veteran?" He sounded like he was trying to keep his voice down, but Otho wasn't impressed. "What does that mean?"

"It means I was taken from one of the original southwest tribes." Otho whispered back. "And I served at the first battle against the NCR."

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "What's the difference between a decanus and a veteran?"

"Decanii lead troops."

"Why aren't you a decanus?"

"Because I have little tolerance for stupid questions."

The conversation died after that.

Up ahead, Dead Sea waved for them to follow him. Otho pulled his collar up over his face and hurried his way through the city. He could see the exit looming in the distance. Soon he was going to be a free man. It's all Otho wanted, just to get out of that hell hole.

Otho only allowed himself to breathe when he was out. There was nothing but endless desert sprawled out before him. The neon lights from the city still glowed in the night air, but they were all behind him. Otho longed to see the stars in their full intensity again.

"Don't get too comfortable." Dead Sea spoke under his breath. "We're still in NCR territory."

"Now what?" Otho didn't look away from the desert up ahead. "Are there any independent towns left in the Mojave?"

"Um, guys?" Legionary-in-training was looking over his shoulder. "I mean sirs."

Dead Sea and Otho turned around. Through the dim lights, he could barely make out the form of a squad of NCR soldiers moving towards them.

"It's not worth it." Dead Sea took a step back. "Run."

The second Otho started running, the NCR soldiers charged. He didn't pace himself. He struggled to breathe, his feet burned like hell, but he kept going. The sounds of pounding footsteps around him were drowned out by his rapid heart rate and heavy breathing. The NCR soldiers no longer existed, neither did Dead Sea. All that mattered was his escape. That's all he allowed himself to focus his mind on.

Gunfire shot through the area and Otho came to a screeching halt. Legionary-in-training was nowhere to be seen, but Otho could see Dead Sea on the ground, clutching his bleeding ribs.

Otho looked back at him for a moment. He didn't know what to make of his expression. It was a combination of pain, anger, and desperation. The decanus's metal arm shook as he struggled to push himself back up, only to collapse back down on the desert floor.

The NCR soldiers were closing in like vultures. He didn't have a choice. Otho felt his mouth go dry as he turned around and continued running.

"You bastard!" Dead Sea screamed back at him. "You traitorous bastard!"

Otho already had the screaming blocked out of his mind. It was too painful to listen to. He turned his back to the Legion before. He thought it would be easier the second time.

Even as the sun began to rise over the peaks of the mountains, Otho kept running. His movements became sluggish, his chest and legs felt like they were burning up on the inside. There was nothing but endless desert around him. Both the NCR and the Legion were a distant memory behind him. When he allowed himself to stop running, he collapsed.

The rough surface of the desert floor scraped against Otho's cheek, but he didn't care. Even as the sun continued to beat down on him he couldn't move. What was he running to anyway? Did he really think he was going to start a new life in the middle of nowhere? He had more of a chance with the NCR.

Otho thought back to Stella and he felt a pit form in his chest. She was his sanctuary in a sense. A glimpse of the outside world when he was in the Legion and a reminder of his previous life when he was out of it. But did he really think he could live his life with her? The bruises from her collar were still visible. Those hands he held were still damaged from the arena matches.

His last memory of her continued to burn into his mind as he remained collapsed on the ground. He hadn't slept all night, but his eyes remained open and focused on nothing. Nothing mattered to him. Even when he felt something nudging at the back of his head, he didn't bother to move.

The nudging at his head stopped, but then Otho felt a creature crawl over him. Otho tilted his head up and became face-to-face with the blue and yellow reptilian eyes of a night stalker. Its mouth was wide open, fangs dripping and gleaming in the sunlight.

The gentle hissing coming from the creature was soon joined with the sounds of women shouting. Otho expected the night stalker to charge at them, but instead it remained seated by his head, its rattle tail thwacking against his leg.

Soon enough, he was surrounded. A group of older women stood over him. All wearing various pieces of tribal memorabilia and improvised armor. Their skin was covered in scars, but they all looked more than experienced in the ways of the desert.

The night stalker stood up and walked over to the side of one of the women. Her face was covered with a stark white hockey mask and over her hair she wore a hood constructed from the skin of another night stalker. She placed a hand on her pet's head and knelt down before Otho.

"He's running from something." Her voice was somehow crystal clear from behind that mask. Otho couldn't help but feel a sense of peace when he heard it. "Bounty hunters, law men, who knows. Either way, they'll run into our trap. Tie him up."

Otho couldn't bring himself to speak before the other women tied his wrists together. They dragged him through the desert. It was getting harder for Otho to remove himself from his current situation. His skin burned as he was carelessly tossed on the ground in front of a cave. The cave made Otho think of his tribal home. It took a lot of willpower not to show weakness in front of his captors.

"Make sure he doesn't try anything." The masked woman instructed the other women in her gang. "If he tries to escape, feed him to the nightstalkers."

She pulled her mask and hood off and set them down. Otho thought he was going to have a heart attack.

Her gray hair was tied into multiple braids and fastened into a knot behind her head. She almost appeared regal in the way she stood. But what set Otho off were her tattoos. Etched into the skin of her face were intricately drawn blood red tattoos. Otho would have recognized them anywhere. He thought he was going to pass out.

Otho could already sense the tears beginning to form in his eyes, but he forced himself to keep looking at her.

"Do you recognize me?"

She frowned. "Would I have a reason to?"

"My name is Otto." His voice cracked. "I was once part of the  _Cii'ton_  tribe."

The woman's expression started off as confused then morphed into shock. Her eyes widened, her legs shook as she took a step back.

"Otto..." She fell to her knees in front of him and reached out to remove his glasses. "Is that really you?"

He bit his lip and nodded, his wrists were desperately pulling at his bindings. The words he wanted to say were tangled in his throat, but he somehow managed to force it out.

"I'm sorry, mother."

When she wrapped her arms around him, he completely broke down. It was like those long 30 years never happened and he was still a child being comforted after a nightmare. He was sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and being held captive, but he never felt more safe.

"I knew we'd find each other again,  _pilaa_." She whispered. "No one keeps me from my family."

He heard the shuffling of feet from inside the cave. One of the other women stepped out and stared at them.

"Uh…" She spoke up. "So do you still want us to feed him to the night stalkers?"

 


	8. Chapter 8

**-August, 2252-**

_The Mojave night air was even more cold outside of a Legion tent._

_Otto, no Otho, shivered as a frigid wind swept through the camp grounds. His hair was clipped off to a short fuzz around his head, leaving him little protection against the elements. The skin on his left forearm stung from receiving his first tattoo. Three legionaries had to hold him down to keep him still long enough. The more he cried, the more they yelled at him. They yelled at him a lot._

_It took a while for the reality of him being a soldier to sink in. His tribe didn't have soldiers. They didn't even have an army. The other boys would make fun of him all the time. They called him "girly", a term Otho never heard of before. He couldn't go to his instructors about it. In the Legion, men had to take care of themselves._

_Otho spent his sixth birthday lying on the ground in front of a tent. His body felt sore from the brutal training, but he refused to use the bedrolls provided. Just the idea of having anything soft pressed against him made him feel like he was suffocating. He also didn't want to share a tent with the other boys. He longed for the warm fires and cozy caves his tribe provided._

_At least he still had the stars. Otho felt transported whenever he looked up at them. He remembered his mother telling him stories about the great weaver spirit who wove people's destinies out of the stars. His mother often told those stories as she worked on her own loom, as a method of gaining a better understanding of the spirit._

_Otho wished he had a chance to ask her about the invasion. Tears fell from his eyes as he continued to stare up at the stars. Why him? Why would the spirits allow this to happen? Did he do something wrong? He still had Godiva's necklace hidden away. Maybe that was it. This had to be a punishment._

_His eyes ached from crying and from keeping them open for so long, but he didn't dare to close them. Hopefully somewhere his sisters and his parents were looking up at the stars too. His hand clutched the front of his red tunic. He hated being alone. But if he held onto this part of his culture, maybe he didn't have to be._

**-June, 2284-**

Being in a cave again reminded Otho of being home, but not entirely. The cave walls seemed so bare compared to the ones back in his tribe. Back there, every inch of stone was covered in colorful murals and intricately-woven tapestries.

Otho was alone with his thoughts inside the cave when his mother walked over and draped a blanket over his shoulders.

"I know it's not as warm as the ones I used to weave, but it's something." She placed a hand on his back and sat down next to him.

He smiled weakly as his eyes cast downwards to the floor of the cave. Even after 30 years, her voice and presence provided him with a feeling of comfort.

"I can't believe you're alive." His voice cracked and his hands tightened around the fringe of the blanket.

She sighed. "Sometimes I can't believe it myself." Her arm moved around his shoulders and Otho nearly broke. "I wish I could have done more to defend our home against the Legion, but I was powerless."

Otho was shocked by her words. "You were never weak. You were the one who held our tribe together."

"But I still allowed my own children to be enslaved." The red tattooed skin around her eyes glistened with tears, but she wiped them away. He wasn't used to seeing her like this. "That's weakness."

Otho stared down at the cave floor, his vision blurring.

"Godiva's alive." The words escaped him before he could think otherwise.

His mother's eyes widened. "She is? How is she?"

Otho's hands gripped the edge of the blanket until his knuckles turned white.

"I don't know. She doesn't want to see me."

"What?" Her voice softened. "What do you mean?"

Otho looked back up at his mother. She was the last member of his family who would even look at him. Looking at her made him feel safe for the first time in decades. For once, he felt like he was home. Was risking it all truly worth it?

He shook his head. "It's still too painful. We both need time to recover from the Legion."

She nodded, but she still seemed uncertain.

When Otho moved to adjust the blanket, it slipped off his shoulders and revealed the burns on his forearms. His mother grabbed his arm before he could make a move to cover them up.

" _Pilaa, pilaa_!" She turned his arm around in her hands, her tone becoming more and more frantic when she realized how deep the wound was. "What happened to you?"

"I burnt it." Otho's arm fell limp in her grasp. Having to lie to her ate away at him, but he didn't have a choice. The more she agonized over the brandings, the harder it was to keep inside.

"How did you burn yourself like this?" Her eyes were wide, her fingers were clenched around his arm causing the skin on her knuckles to turn white. "The Legion did this to you, didn't they?

"I…" His voice cracked and he held his head in his hands, his body shaking violently. "I was a legionary. When they took me, I became a soldier. I burnt my arms...to remove the tattoos I was given. I'm sorry."

Otho didn't dare to lift his head as he waited for her to scold him or leave. To his surprise, she removed her grip from his arm and held him close. He was too stunned to move a muscle and instead just allowed her to run her hand across his back as he pressed his face against her shoulder.

"The invasion forced us into things we otherwise wouldn't have done." She whispered. "This isn't who you are. You're still my son."

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt so weak and vulnerable, but for once he didn't mind.

"But I remember you telling me that humans shouldn't give in to brutality."

"Well that didn't do us any good against the Legion now, did it?" She tucked one of her braids behind her ear and forced a smile. "I realized that after I lost my family."

Otho looked back up at her. "So you're not disappointed in me?"

"No, no." She held him tighter, pressing her forehead on top of his head. " _Lau'k aa tzu, pilaa. Ito aa paci i it tzu nehmi._ "

Hearing his tribal tongue spoken for the first time in years was just as painful as being stabbed in the stomach, but also just as comforting as stepping into a warm bath. He wiped his eyes and tried to stammer out a response.

" _Tziinot aa maca."_ The tightness in his chest returned as he tried to piece the words together. " _Huechan aa tzu."_

She smiled at him, wiping his tears away.

"Your pronunciation needs more practice."

Otho managed to laugh, but it still sounded tired and forced.

"I never forgot the stories you used to tell me."

She pulled the blanket further up over his shoulders.

"I'm glad. I was afraid they would die with the rest of us."

"But there was one I never heard the ending of." Otho leaned against the wall of the cave, staring up at her. "The one you started the night before the invasion."

"Ah, the Fire Walker." His mother sighed wistfully as she gazed upwards, her eyes were so intense it was like she could see through the ceiling of the cave.

"I would like to hear the ending."

"Let's see…" She ran her fingers through her braids as she thought. "A mortal man is determined to find the city of paradise, but realizes that this would be impossible. Upon hearing his plight, a wandering spirit decides to help him. The spirit engulfs the man in a magical fire and tells him that as he walks towards the city of paradise, he mustn't take his mind off of his goal. Because his dedication will keep the flames from consuming him."

"That's where you left off." Otho picked at the hem of the blanket. "What happened after?"

She tapped her finger against the floor of the cave. "Well as he's walking, he can see the walls of the city glowing in the distance. The fire burns hotter around him, but he's only focused on his goal. The city is so close, he feels like he can touch the gate with his fingers. But then, he stubs his toe on a rock and the fire consumes him. The end."

Otho blinked. "That's it?"

"Yes. A  _Cii'ton_  original."

"He just dies?"

"Uh huh."

Otho rubbed his forehead. "30 years of waiting, and he just dies."

She laughed and patted him on the back. "The point of the story is to not devote your mind to a single unreachable goal instead of the world around us. No matter what happened, he wouldn't have reached the city, but that doesn't mean you can't find paradise where you are right now. In all honesty, our tribe was so obsessed with being like gods, that we didn't notice the Legion flags closing in around us. Our hubris lead to our downfall."

Otho shrugged. "Not having an army didn't help either."

"Yes, unfortunately we can only talk about our family in hindsight now." Her gaze fell back down at the floor. "We may have to accept that our entire legacy will be extinct someday."

Otho looked out towards the cave entrance. "Maybe it doesn't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"Can you write down our tribe's stories? In English. I know someone who wants them."

His mother tilted her head to the side. "Who is that?"

Otho didn't have to say anything. She broke into a grin when he hid his face behind the blanket.

"Oh,  _that_  kind of someone." She continued to smile at him.

"It's not like that." He could feel his face getting more and more warm. "I mean, I don't know. It's complicated."

"Oh, Otto." She shook her head. "Looks like I have a few decades worth of motherly wisdom to give you. Tell me about this  _someone_."

Otho furiously rubbed at his face. "Her name is Stella. She teaches reading to some kids in the city and she was interested in hearing more of our tribe's stories."

"I see." She steepled her fingers. "Tell me more."

"No." He held his arms and closed his eyes.

"I'm your mother, I get to hear about this sort of thing."

"I can't." Otho shook his head, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Nothing could ever happen between us. She was certain about that."

A moment of silence passed between them. His mother rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head.

"I'll write the stories for you,  _pilaa_. You get some rest."

Otho curled up in a blanket near the back wall of the cave. He could hear his mother's pen scribbling furiously against paper and the dull light of the lantern burned in the pitch darkness, but Otho never slept better than he did that night.

…

Otho woke up to a night stalker nudging the side of his face with its nose. Not the ideal wakeup call, but the creature seemed tame enough that he didn't feel the need to move out of the way. Instead he stared at the animal, still groggy from just waking up.

"Good, you're finally awake." His mother stood behind the night stalker and tossed a spear to Otho. "The rest of the women are out scouting. In the meantime, we're going hunting."

"What?" Otho rubbed his eyes as he tried to process what she said.

She flexed her fingers inside her bladed gauntlet. "I think it's time I teach you to make your first kill."

"I was a soldier."

"Don't give me that." She playfully patted him on the head, not with the gauntlet-covered hand of course. "What kind of mother would I be if I never taught you how to hunt?"

" _The kind I remember you being."_  The words formed in Otho's brain, but instead of saying anything he nodded and clutched the spear.

When Otho stood up, his mother handed him a thick stack of age-stained paper held together with twine.

"The stories you wanted." Her voice softened. "Seeing them on paper isn't the same as hearing them spoken, but I hope this will help our culture survive."

Otho hesitantly took the papers from her and tucked the bundle into his coat pocket.

"Thank you." He kept his hand in his pocket, refusing to let go of the stories.

His mother smiled. "Anything for my Otto."

…

Even when hunting, his mother was as still as she was when weaving. Instead of chasing after their prey, she prefered to remain unseen behind some boulders and wait. When hidden behind the hockey mask and the hood, it was even harder for Otho to view this woman as his actual mother. In a sense that made things easier.

The night stalker that tagged along was remarkably well-behaved in a way Otho wouldn't have expected, but the creature's presence still troubled him.

"What's with the night stalker?" Otho whispered.

"She's my pet." She whispered back. "She assists me on scouting missions."

"You can tame night stalkers?"

"It's not easy." His mother pulled at the front of her hood. "I used one of her pack members to make this headdress. Either she recognizes me as one of her own, or she's intimidated by me."

_Don't give into brutality, Otto._

Her younger voice echoed in his mind and he shook his head.

"Who are the other women you travel with?"

He could hear her sigh from behind the hockey mask and she picked at her gauntlet.

"The Legion destroyed many tribes, Otto. The women you see with me are the mothers of tribes who refused to surrender, but couldn't fight back. We've been gathering our strength so next time we won't make that same mistake."

"The Legion has been destroyed."

"This is true." She ran her hand along the night stalker's back. "But you weren't."

Otho smirked. "Not sure about that."

He could almost sense her smiling and rolling her eyes behind the mask.

"You're so dramatic, Otto."

The sound of people running towards them filled the air. Otho reached for his spear, but his mother stopped him. He looked up from behind their cover and saw two of the masked tribal women who restrained him the night before.

"Ima, we have a problem." She unsheathed her knife from her belt and used it to point towards the direction of the cave. "Soldiers. Lots of them."

"Hmm." His mother leaned back against the boulders, crossing her arms. "Of which army?"

"The Republic."

Otho felt his blood run cold at the sound of the word, but his mother just seemed irritated.

"I'm just trying to spend some quality time with my son. Tell them to come back."

"You know they won't do that, Ima."

She stood up and removed her hood and mask.

"Come on,  _pilaa_. This won't take long."

Otho stared up at her with wide eyes.

"I think it would be best if you stayed here. They may be trouble."

The look she gave him made him regret speaking.

"The only one causing trouble around here will be me if they try to take you from me."

She turned away to join the other women. Otho's hand was still shaking around the spear. He hadn't used one since his early years in the Legion. He doubted he could defend himself against anyone with it, much less a squad of NCR soldiers.

He was undertrained and underprepared, but the thought of his mother having to face them alone made him sick. Without a second thought, he jumped to his feet and ran over to join them.

"We know you have him!" The soldiers had their rifles pointed at his mother and the other women. "Hand him over and we can resolve this peacefully."

When they noticed Otho, all of their rifles were aimed at him.

"Ma'am, are you aware that you have a notorious Legion soldier in your custody?"

Notorious? Even Otho had to admit that was a bit of a stretch.

His mother scoffed. "Of course. He's my son."

The soldier paused. "I am so sorry."

"Do not patronize me."

"Just hand him over, and we'll move along."

She thrust her gauntlets out in his direction. There was still a lot of distance between them, but the soldier gasped as if the blades grazed his throat.

"No one just 'moves along' after separating me from my family."

"What are you doing?" Otho held his hands up. "Just hand me over, you can't beat them!"

"What else am I supposed to do?" The look of hurt on her face was the most painful thing Otho had ever seen. "I can't lose you again."

"But I'll lose you if you fight them." His voice shook and he had to avert his eyes from her. "Please, just let them take me."

The silence fell stagnant around them, until he heard her sigh and she fell from her combat stance.

"I'm sorry I failed you again." She whispered under her breath.

Otho still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He kept his hands up as he made his way over to the armed NCR soldiers, but came to a halt when his mother hugged him tightly.

"You're so brave,  _pilaa_." She held the sides of his face and Otho couldn't look away from her tear-soaked eyes. "I'll never stop being proud of you."

He gripped her wrist and struggled to remain as stoic as he could.

" _Lau'k aa tzu._ " He managed to choke out.

She smiled sadly. "I love you too, Otto. And your pronunciation is getting better."

Otho was dragged away before he could find it within himself to respond. He kept looking over his shoulder to see her form gradually fading in the distance to the point where he wondered if she was ever there at all.

"I know I'm in no position to be asking this." Otho subconsciously pulled at the cuffs keeping his hands linked behind his back. "But I have one last request."

"What makes you think we'd do anything for you?"

"Just hear me out." Otho sighed. "In my pocket, I have the only written records of my tribe's stories. You can destroy anything else I have on me, but I need you to deliver them to someone or they will be lost forever."

Otho could feel his stomach tightening the longer the soldier remained silent.

"Who's receiving them?"

"Her name is Stella."

"Stella what?"

Otho paused.

"I don't actually know her last name, but she was a former NCR ranger who was captured by the Legion during the war. She lives in Westside now. Does that help?"

"We'll  _consider_  it."

"That's all I ask." It still felt like a huge weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He most likely being dragged away to an NCR jail cell, but he still felt strangely at peace. The bundle of stories felt heavy in his pocket as he trudged through the desert. He could only hope that the NCR wouldn't destroy them.

**-July, 2284-**

Otho was used to being an NCR prisoner. He knew this was rather pathetic, but he didn't care. He couldn't be a citizen of the Republic, he couldn't be a soldier of the Legion, he couldn't be a member of the  _Cii'ton_  tribe, but he knew how to be a prisoner.

He was never told what happened to Dead Sea. In reality, he didn't want to know. He could at least take comfort in the fact that the NCR most likely wouldn't put them in the same room together.

Otho was thrown out of his thoughts when he heard a prison guard rattling the bars of his cell with a baton.

"You have a visitor. Get up."

Otho slowly pushed himself off of his cot, his back aching as he did so.

"I can have visitors?"

The guard handcuffed Otho through the bars before letting him out.

"Normally no, but she was very...insistent."

Otho was lead down the beige hallways and into a small room lined with tables and chairs. The moment he saw Stella sitting near the center of the room, he swore he was going to pass out.

The guard stood close as Otho sat down in front of her. He couldn't bring himself to look in her direction, choosing instead to look down at his cuffed wrists.

"We've come full circle now." He gave a small smile and lightly tugged at the cuffs.

Stella's expression barely faltered.

"I can't be here long, so we shouldn't spend too much time in silence." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bundled-up stack of papers. "I received the stories."

It was as if a huge weight was lifted off of his shoulders. Otho gave a sigh of relief and reclined against the back of the chair.

"I'm so glad. I was afraid they were lost forever."

"I like them a lot. Not so sure about the one with the guy on fire. Not much of a payoff." She paused. "No offence."

Otho smiled. "None taken. That ending is terrible."

He thought he saw her smile back at him, but it was probably just his imagination.

"I'll try to teach these stories to the kids." She glanced down at the papers. "The ' _Kee-ton'_  tribe?"

Otho shook his head. "When two i's are together, it makes sort of a breathy 'ch' sound."

Stella tried to replicate the sound a few times, but none of her attempts seemed to sound close.

"I'll work on it." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Does that translate to anything?"

Otho's face paled. "It means 'learned ones', or something like that."

"Is that so?" She smirked at him and turned to a particular page. "Because the papers you sent said it means 'star kissed' and I quote: 'no matter what Otto says, that's what the name means and he's just too embarrassed to admit that'."

Otho rubbed his temples. "Oh my god, mom."

Another moment of silence brewed between them, the only sound coming from the gentle clinking of Otho playing with his handcuffs. At long last, Stella sighed.

"Let's just cut to the chase. Otho...I'm sorry." Her eyebrows knotted and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I was emotional after visiting Camp Charlie."

Otho shook his head. "It's not your fault. I understand."

"But I really like you." She tangled her fingers through her hair. "I like our conversations, our silences, even those stupid sexist things you used to say were entertaining. Back when I was a prisoner of the Legion, you were the only one who came close to treating me like a human being."

"I'm happy you feel that way."

"But I was still a prisoner." She looked away from him. "You have to understand that."

Otho bowed his head. The skin on his wrists was bruised from pulling against the cuffs so much.

"So am I."

"It's not the same." She looked back at him and Otho couldn't bring himself to look away. "But how much longer do you have here?"

"I missed my chance." His hands clenched into fists. "I missed my chance at becoming a proper citizen, so now I'm a prisoner forever."

Stella's finger tapped against the table. "Another reason why this would never work."

"Stella, please."

"I'm sorry, Otho." She reached forward and placed her hand over his. Her hands were so cold but he didn't mind. "In another life, maybe this could have worked out."

"Why not this one?" Otho's heart ached, his body and voice trembling.

"You know why." Her tone became more stern. "I've told you multiple times."

Otho closed his eyes, trying to focus on nothing but the feeling of her hand on his. When she pulled away, Otho felt the pit in his stomach grow stronger and his hand instinctively reached out for her touch.

"I'm moving to California, Otho." Her voice was softer than he was used to. "Staying here in Nevada is too painful for me. It isn't healthy."

Otho opened his eyes in shock and she looked away.

"You're leaving?"

"I'm not asking you to understand." She kept her gaze locked on the floor. "But I have to do this."

"I'll come with you." His mind was on autopilot, he couldn't even think straight.

"You know that can never happen." She sighed. "I'll leave the stories here so the kids can learn them."

Otho shook his head. "Take them with you. I don't want anyone to have them but you."

She frowned. "Why? No one else will hear them."

"Because I want you to know that I come from something other than the Legion."

Stella held his hand again, but this time her touch felt warm.

"I already know that." She said with a slight smile. "But my time here is up...literally. I think my visiting time is over."

Otho looked at the prison guard who nodded.

"I hear California is nice." He stared back down at the handcuffs. "You'll like it."

Stella stood up and scooped the papers back into her arms.

"Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I don't know."

"I'll write to you if you want."

" _Yes, please"_  was all Otho wanted to say, but he shook his head.

"You need to put all of this behind you. Including me.  _Especially_  me."

Stella was quiet for a moment, then nodded and turned towards the exit.

"Thank you. Crazy of me to say this, but I'm going to miss you."

"Stella?"

She looked back at him over her shoulder.

"What is it?"

He smiled at her. " _Tach aa tzu."_

She smirked. "You gonna tell me what that means, or am I going to have to get your mom to translate?"

"Oh, it means 'good luck'."

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "Well, back at ya."

The sound of the door closing behind her continued to echo in Otho's mind. He almost didn't register it when the guard tried to escort him back to his cell.

"You look like you're going to pass out." The guard tightened his grip on Otho's bicep.

Otho continued to stare blankly ahead as he was pushed back into his cell.

"No." The cell door slammed behind him. "I'll be alright."

_**-August, 2252-** _

_Otho continued to tremble outside of the tent. Just a few days before, he was spending the cold nights with his family in a warm cave. The loneliness he felt burnt stronger than any bonfire he sat in front of. It was colder than the stinging winds that whistled around him._

" _What the hell are you doing out here?" A legionary commander stood over him. "Why aren't you in your tent?"_

_Otho didn't respond. He was too cold and afraid to. They would whip him for not responding, he knew that. But he didn't care._

_The commander's footsteps faded away but before Otho could return to his thoughts, he felt a scratchy blanket being draped over him. It was nowhere near as well-made as the ones his mother wove, but the bliss he felt made it feel like satin._

" _The first few nights are the hardest. But remember that you finally belong to something."_

_Otho tightened the blanket around his shivering form and closed his eyes. For the first time since the invasion, he had a feeling it was going to be alright._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cii'ton translations in this chapter:
> 
> Pilaa--[my] son  
> Lau’k aa tzu--[paternal] declaration of love  
> Ito aa paci i it tzu nehmi--I am happy you're alive  
> Tziinot aa maca--this pains me [I'm sorry]  
> Huechan aa tzu--I missed you  
> Tach aa tzu--[romantic] declaration of love. Otho is a fucking liar.


End file.
